Death After Death Ch. 104 and 105 (Patreon)

Ch. 104 - No Way Out

Simon waited for his moment; he parried and feinted, and each time, he pulled back as he looked for an opening. It wasn’t long before one of the men he faced off against was foolish enough to charge him. 

Simon was still a little too round to cleanly dodge such an attack, but he guided the tip of his opponent’s blade away with his dagger before he moved forward, inside the other man’s guard, and shoved his dagger into the gap between the man’s gorget and his helmet. Then, while his opponent was choking on his own blood, Simon stole his sword. 

The weapon was a little heavier than the long sword he was used to, but it was a thousand times better than the dagger he’d had moments ago. Until now, he’d been forced to give ground constantly, but now he lashed out, taking his opponents by complete surprise. 

He cursed himself for growing too reliant on his magic. Even as he moved, he imagined the openings he’d make if he could use even a minor word of force to parry a blow or knock the man across from him off balance even a little. 

Despite that, the two nearest him were on their back foot. Their armor saved them from any real damage, as Simon ended each parry with a hard slash that contained enough force to stagger them. Despite that, the best he was able to do was knock a few of the men over as he tripped and pushed them while he kept the rest back off with wild swings of his sword. 

Those combinations were effective, but they were exhausting. As much as he would have liked to, there was no way he could keep that tempo up forever. 

Steel rang out against steel for almost a minute before he managed to take another one of them down, bringing the odds down to the still impossible eight on one. That was worlds better than ten on one, of course, but he’d been fresh then, and he was exhausted now. 

Still, he did his best, at least until he was surrounded. That was when he made a desperate push toward the person in gray robes. If he could take them down, then he could burn everyone else alive and escape. 

Sadly, the warriors in white anticipated that and never let him close to their whisperer, whatever the hell that was. On his third attempt, the closest he got was when he knocked down the warrior who had looked familiar earlier. 

As Simon raised his sword to gut the young man, he finally figured out who it was he’d been fighting. For a brief moment, he saw the man a few years younger as a boy, rolling around on the floor as he tried to pull those biting insects off of him. 

It was a gut-wrenching moment, and it was enough to stay his blade. “Aaric?” Simon asked. 

It was a mistake. In his flashback, the boy looked up at him plaintively, but now he was back to the same hard-eyed man he’d been seconds before, practically daring Simon to strike him down with his eyes. 

He couldn’t, of course, and so, he lost the initiative rather than turning the fight into seven-on-one. He didn’t last much longer after that. Soon, his already heavy sword was made of lead, and once he was hemmed in between a few men with shields, he was quickly disarmed and then knocked off his feet. 

Once he was on the ground, it was over. Strangely, though, no one stabbed him. That was what he’d been expecting. Instead, they proceeded to start kicking him and beating him with the flat of their blades. 

They want me alive? He wondered as his fear rose along with his pain. Why?

He had no answers, though. His world was reduced to a cluster of bruises that slowly expanded wider with every passing second. One sharp kick to the head almost knocked him unconscious, but the leader of the zealots called his men off then, and instead, they began to bind his hands. 

“Patience!” he called out. “Giving this demon a painless death will do nothing to save his eternal soul. First, he must be cleansed!”

Everyone cheered at that, and even Aaric took a moment from glaring at Simon with hate to pray. He didn’t have to wait long to find out what that meant for him, though. Part of him hoped they’d do something simple, like burn him at the stake, but it turned out to be even simpler than that as two men started dragging him toward the well in the center of the square. 

“Wait, you’re going to drown me?” Simon asked, coughing up blood. He was fairly sure he’d broken a rib. “In the town well? That’s your cleansing?”

“Of course,” the cult leader laughed. “And Carelyn will suffer the same fate as soon as we run her to ground again.”

“Yeah, but people drink from there,” he said, confused. “Maybe, I don’t know, find a pond or something?” The cleansing metaphor he could get, even though it was dumb, but why not a river or something. This was a great way to cause a cholera outbreak or worse. 

Not that it would affect him. Drowning was a miserable way to go, but maybe if he could convince this asshole to go somewhere further afield, he’d have a chance to escape. 

“Nonsense,” the sneering man said, looking more and more like the caricature of a villain. “We shall cleanse you here so everyone can see how you suffer for salvation. Then we’ll fish your corpse out afterward and hang it from a post so that everyone will know the price for selling their soul. Your death here will save countless others. That at least I can thank you for.”

Simon rolled his eyes at that but said nothing as the man began to give a speech about how anyone who covets the powers of the gods should be struck down. He continued to struggle as the man’s still-living minions held him, but they never got distracted enough for him to break free. 

He picked off a few things about the principalities of the waters, the sins of the ancestors, and the tainting of the source, but on the whole, the whole thing was impenetrable to Simon. All he really got out of listening to the rambling five-minute sermon was that these guys weren’t completely crazy, but they were pretty crazy about purging the unclean from the world, which he took to mean warlocks and magic users, as well as the fact that this guy’s title was ‘seeker.’

The only part he really stopped struggling was when Aaric made a tearful speech about how Simon had sucked the life out of his family. “My sisters both died that year, and our farm never had a good season after that, thanks to this monster!” the young man declared. “I offer thanks to my father and all of his ancestors that such a wretch will finally be cleansed!” 

“What are you talking about?” Simon yelled. “I saved your family from the black swarm! I—” 

“Shut up!” Aaric roared. “Neither of them ever had the blood sickness before you stayed with us. You did that to them!”

Before he could interject again, Simon was rewarded for his efforts by being dragged to his feet and punched in the stomach hard enough to shut him up and leave him gasping. That didn’t end the whole ritual, of course. The Seeker continued, and other people came forward, accusing Simon of things he’d never done. 

He was accused of making sheep barren and the winter too long. He was accused of burning down houses and souring milk. 

He laughed at those, at least. They were pure insanity. The only one that got under his skin was Aaric’s testimony. That left Simon wondering if there might be some truth to the aftermath of what he’d done to that swarm. 

Everything about that day horrified him already, from the bugs to how badly he wanted to try the word of transfer again. Even weeks later, the idea that he could use it on someone else still lingered most nights while he lay in bed. 

All he wanted to know was if he’d actually hurt someone, but each time he tried to ask, he was beaten and spit upon. Eventually, the Seeker ended the ceremony and turned to face Simon. 

“Do you have any last words?” the prick asked as Simon was perched on the edge of the well. 

“Yeah, next time, I’m killing you first,” Simon said. As he did so, he tried to wrap his legs around the guy and drag him to hell along with him, but unfortunately, he was still exhausted, and the zealot’s men succeeded in separating the two of them before Simon could fling himself down the well. 

He expected to hit the cold water and sink immediately, only that isn’t what happened. As soon as he hit the water, it started falling, too. He had only a second to understand why before the whole thing flushed beneath him. 

That was the only way he could think about it. Like he’d been flushed down a toilet, only those obviously weren’t going to exist for a few more centuries. 

Portal. The word flashed through his mind just before he hit the cavern floor. He hit hard, and what felt like a few rotting corpses broke his fall even as the water splashed widely around him. Simon had a few seconds to look around and listen to the cries of confusion from the well above him, but after that, the light that came from the hole faded from view, leaving him in the dark.

“What in the fuck was that?” he asked himself. 

Simon had just enough time to recall that they were going to dump that girl in here, which made the exit’s location make a strange sort of sense, but before he could piece things together more than that or try to figure out how to free his hands, a low growl echoed through the cave. 

Wherever he was, he wasn’t in here alone. 

For a moment, Simon didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. He just listened and tried to gather clues from that. 

Though the place stank, it sounded like there was only one creature in there with him. At least, he thought there was as he listened to the shuffling and the snuffling. Whatever it was, it was big, though. Like - really big. Simon instantly ruled out orc but struggled to think of what it might be instead. 

Troll? He thought with more than a little trepidation. But those could see in the dark, couldn’t they?

A shiver went down his spine. He had his magic back, presumably. He just wasn’t sure if he should use it or not. Would light make this worse or better, he wondered. For now, at least, he let his eyes grow accustomed to the dark and listened carefully for any sign that whatever was in here with him might be getting closer.

Ch. 105 - Bump in the Night

Simon tried to get up from where he’d fallen as quietly as he could and whispered, “Aufvarum Oonbetit,” to cut the ropes on his hands free, but in the dark, every sound seemed to carry, and stealth was, ironically, impossible. As loud as whispering had seemed, though, moving was worse. As he tentatively stood, the debris he was on top of skidded and clattered down a slope of other disgusting refuse, and he stumbled as he almost lost his footing. 

For a moment, whatever was in here with him froze at the sound of his tumble, and then it began stomping toward him with increasing speed. Thinking fast, Simon picked up the nearest rock and threw it to the opposite side of the cavern or wherever it was that he was at, now. 

That made the monster freeze again for a moment, but when it started moving, Simon was pretty sure that its direction hadn’t changed. It was coming right for him. 

Simon continued to ease himself down the midden heap, and he reached out for anything he might be able to use. This time, when he found a bone, he whispered, “Aufvarum Barom,” as he threw the thing overhand as hard as he could overhand away from him. 

The bone burst into the pale yellow flashlight beam that he’d envisioned, and it tumbled end over end through the dark thanks to the word of lesser light he’d used. That only lasted for two or three seconds before the creature it illuminated lashed out, shattering it and sending glowing fragments in every direction.

Those two seconds were enough, though. Up until now, the biggest thing that Simon had dealt was a troll. Technically, the Wyvern was bigger, but he’d been pretty far away from it when he struck it down, so that didn’t really count. 

If the troll had been ten or twelve feet tall, then this ogre was easily fifteen feet. It was impossible to say in the eerie location that was this cavern. What he could say, though, was that the thing was a tough old bastard. Its body was covered in scars, and one of its eyes was milky and useless. None of those features distracted him from the thickly knotted muscles that covered the too-wide creature or the treetrunk club that it had just used to such deadly effect as it turned a single ulna bone into fifty ulna fragments that twinkled like stars as they rained down across the ground. 

It was beautiful in a strange, savage way, but that didn’t stop Simon from picking up speed. In the brief flash of light, he saw the glint of metal from a rusted blade and grabbed that, too, even as he darted into a darker part of the cave. It was a good thing he’d done so, too, because he’d only gotten a dozen feet when he heard the ogre’s club swing down hard on the pile of bone and filth he’d been standing on only moments ago. 

He felt pieces of bone and stone spray across his back, which was painful since he lacked his leather armor, but he did not cry out. Instead, he ran for another second, and as soon as the sound of debris stopped, he stopped, too. 

The dim lights of his initial spell were already starting to fade, and the brightest details were charcoal gray against the black of the cave. From where Simon was standing now, trying very hard to control his breath, he thought he could see light leaking from the entrance to the monster’s lair, but he didn’t run toward it. He didn’t even breathe. He just stood there, trying to ignore the stink and the feeling of blood dripping down his back as he waited to see what the creature did next. 

It apparently had a similar thought because it also waited quietly. Well, almost quietly. It still shuffled and snorted, but it did not rampage or do anything else that might hide the sounds of its quarry. Instead, it stood there breathing in out of those giant lungs that sounded like wheezing bellows, and Simon reminded himself that he was well inside the range of its weapon still, and anything he did to draw attention to himself might well be it for this run. 

That would be intolerable, he thought to himself. This is the thirtieth floor, and that ugly piece of shit is the only thing that’s standing between me and finding out the truth about what happened!

It was frustrating, but not so frustrating that he didn’t stand there and take shallow breaths as he thought things through and wondered when the bastard would lose interest. He’d already used a major word and a number of lesser words during the witchhunt, but he thought he could do just about anything he wanted within reason. 

The only obstacle was the darkness. Well, not the only obstacle, he corrected himself, but certainly the main one. The fact that it was huge and stronger than a bull were certainly problems as well, but the fact that he couldn’t see it to precisely target it was the biggest problem of all. 

If he wanted to use force, he was going to need to keep it pretty focused to penetrate so much bulk, but if he wanted to make sure he hit it, the strike would have to be wide. There was no good overlap between those two strategies. 

Eventually, things turned in his favor, and the beast grew restless. It started groping through the pile of shattered bones, looking for a corpse to feast on. Simon took that opportunity to slink away and pick up a few more stones. Then, in rapid succession, he used the words of lesser light and started tossing them around the room near the ogre. 

It was enraged, of course, and bellowed so powerfully that Simon could smell its awful halitosis from here, but at last, he could see the thing, and the five stones scattered between here and there gave him a good sense of depth, too, which was all he needed for the spell that game next. “Gervuul Vosden!” he yelled. Greater Earth. 

The new word tore its way out of his throat much more harshly than any of the words he was more familiar with, and he tasted blood and brimstone, but he didn’t let that dissuade him. He’d never tried a spell like this before, but he had no doubt it would work. More importantly, the odds of him missing in a serious way, like he might with force, were a lot more minor. 

The first time he’d tried this magic, it was to dig a small hole, but this time it was for something far more brutal. The floor around the ogre and the ceiling above it suddenly sprouted stalagmites and stalactites that started to devour it like the maw of an angry dragon. 

The creature bashed through several, but even as it did so, others continued to grow, tripping it up, and as it rose to its feet, the stalactites that hadn’t been destroyed above it continued to grow, pinning it down. 

“Vosden!” he yelled again. He wanted to use the major power word, but he didn’t trust himself to hold up under that level of abuse, and he didn’t think he’d need that much extra power to finish this thing off. 

Flesh, even flesh as strong as the orge’s, offered no real resistance to stone, and the sharp points of rock that continued to extend by the will of magic extended forward without regard to the creature’s bellows of agony as it was speared and pinned simultaneously. 

Apparently, none of the things hit somewhere vital, though, because it roared in anger so loudly that the whole cavern shook. For a moment, Simon was deafened, but then he heard the worst sound of all: the sound of stone cracking. 

He darted forward, intent on striking this thing down while it was still tied down like Gulliver. He was too slow for that, though, and the thing was already rising to its feet by the time he reached it. The thing was pierced over and over again by fire hydrant thick stone, and in places, the flesh was entirely torn where the ogre's skin had torn before the pillar had shattered. 

It was a breathtakingly brutal sight but not as brutal as the look of rage in the thing’s one good eye. It was completely bloodshot now, and if he could kill with a look the way the basilisk could, he’d already be ground to paste. 

It couldn’t, though, and when it raised its arm with its club, both of them found out simultaneously that it couldn’t kill him that way either. Its arm was still connected at the shoulder, but halfway down the forearm, there was only a bloody stump and a bit of dangling flesh that was its two-foot wide hand. 

Simon had the brief thought that he didn’t actually need to kill this thing anymore. He just needed to keep away from it while it bled out, but it seemed to sense that and began charging forward on its hand and knee, forcing him back and further from the exit. 

Now, he was in trouble. Behind him and to his left were rough stone walls, and to his right was the uncertain footing of the midden heap he’d landed on. There were no good options here, but every moment he delayed, he lost ground and escape routes. He could see there was going to be no easy way out of here, so Simon reached back and threw his rusted sword in a powerful overhand throw. 

Miraculously, it struck the creature’s eye point first, embedding deep into the thing’s eye socket. Unfortunately, though, the eye it embedded into was the already blinded one. 

Simon stumbled back as the ogre roared and lashed out at him. It wasn’t trying to get him, though. It was trying and failing to grasp the slender thing with its arm-sized fingers. For a moment, Simon was too dazed at watching this ugly, bloody fumbling, but then, before it could wrench the thing free, he kicked out hard, slamming his boat into the hilt, forcing it another few inches deeper. 

“AGHHHHH!” the ogre roared in pain, batting him aside like a rag doll and sending him careening painfully against the nearest wall. 

He should have been grateful that the ogre was already so close to death that most of its strength was gone. If it hadn’t been, he would have broken more than a few bones from that impact. Instead, he merely lay there dazed for a moment before he whispered, “Oonbetit,” slamming the sword deep into the creature’s pea-sized brain and going halfway to the hilt. 

The ogre continued to move even after that, but they were the twitchy, spasmodic movements of a corpse and nothing that prevented him from laying here a moment longer and basking in the afterglow before he finally rose to his feet to prepare for what needed to happen next.