Echoes of a Dead World, Part VI

(In the Shadow of the Serpentine Lord - 4)

Alabaster Jimminy is the fourth giant gator we've encountered since departing Claude's gigantic, steaming albino corpse.

Monster Identified: Alabaster Jimminy, Swamp Loner

Level 39

Classification: Enchanted Reptilian (Large, Uncommon)

At this point, I'm tired. I'm covered head-to-toe with mud and other swamp grime. And I probably don't smell any better than I look.

I fucking hate this swamp! I silently curse.

But mostly?

I hate Alabaster goddamn Jimminy. The giant gator's like the last super-set at the end of a HIIT workout. Just one last circuit then you're able to give your screaming lungs a break.

And—just like that last circuit—I'm used to the movements, and know what to expect. The only thing left is to lock in and finish strong!

Alabaster Jimminy explodes from the shallow, brown water of the marshes, chomping at the air. Steam billows from its nostrils as its pinkish, pupilless eyes roll about in their sockets.

[Wizard's Fist]!

Skill: [Multiplicity].

I feel my magic work through my mind's eye as I cast [Wizard's Fist] and apply my [Multiplicity] Skill.

Ten spectral fists explode into existence, all glowing blue with righteous spellpower and extremely low self-control. Despite each being weaker than the standard casting of my [Wizard's Fist] Spell, I find it harder to influence each additional fist I create. It's like splitting my mind in several different directions. At five fists, I can provide more generalized instructions. At ten, I am simply impressing my intent onto the spectral appendages. They dive into the fray, punching and grabbing and slapping the monster with reckless abandon. At the very least, they all seem extremely happy doing so.

"Hold him down!" I scream.

The fists, thankfully, oblige. Each one attempting to grapple and strangle some part of the gigantic reptile. The gator thrashes, its pale body bucking like a demon dolphin on methamphetamines, but the fists wrestle it into the muck, pinning its limbs and snout in place.

Walter steps forward, grinning a skeleton's grin.

"Time to pay the tax man," he says ominously.

A scroll unfurls in his skeletal hand. Light flares from the ancient parchment.

Ally Walter has relinquished Tax Exempt Status.

Excess interdimensional energies have entered the immediate area.

Summoning Construct: Future Loss Deduction Beast – Titan Skeleton Variant.

The sky shreds apart. A portal opening above our heads, the edges of the sky fraying around it as though something tore a literal hole in our reality.

And that something climbs out, dropping into the battlefield.

It's twenty feet tall, hunched and bristling with jagged bone. Its skull wears a crown of glowing gems. Its arms are made of linked femurs and other long, bones, as though composed from re-constructing and assembling the miscellaneous bones of giant predators.

Preston steps up beside me, fishbowl glowing neon. He points a flipper and my [Aura Sense] flares, sensing the working of the goldfish's aura. A green energy surrounds Walter's summoned construct.

The skeleton titan roars, a dry, hollow sound like the screams of something long forgotten. It charges forward, skewering Alabaster Jimminy through the torso, pinning the flailing gator to a tree that immediately explodes into splinters.

Grush lumbers forward with a claymore-sized grenade clutched in his massive hand. He looks at Jelly Boy. The slime, perched on his shoulder, vibrates, spits out a glowing blue orb, and, with the use of an extended pseudopod, hands it over like the world's weirdest baseball coach.

Grush nods once. He places the orb onto the grenade, and the blue sphere of energy envelops the explosive. Then, Grush baseball-winds up, and hurls the grenade.

The grenade tears through the air and connects, slamming into the neck of the gigantic alligator. The impact alone caves in the gator's throat.

A breath later—Boom!

You have defeated Alabaster Jimminy!

Partial credit awarded to…Olivia Sullivan!

Partial credit awarded to… Walter!

Partial credit awarded to… Preston!

Partial credit awarded to… Grush!

Partial credit awarded to… Jelly Boy!

Level 23 increased to Level 24!

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I cancel my [Wizard's Fist] Spell and collapse to one knee, panting.

"Well," I pant, "that was faster than the last one."

Really, I'm just happy Preston and Walter didn't use this giant gator as an opportunity to train my new Resistances, despite them not being ideal for a spellcaster. Since our battle with Claude, I've managed to increase both [Piercing Resistance] and [Slashing Resistance] to Tier 2, and also gaining [Bludgeoning Resistance] (after taking a few too many giant gator tail slams).

"And you barely took any damage this time," says Liv, emerging from the edge of the battlefield, where she had been poised and ready to dish out some healing if we needed it.

I shrug. "Only got thrown like, what, twice this time?"

"Once," Walter corrects. "We let the last gator tail-whip you as many times as it took for you to develop that new resistance. We're refining your exposure."

"You're refining my face into the marsh," I growl, rubbing my ribs. Despite Liv's magic re-setting them all back to the right place, my sides still throbbed.

Preston floats over. "The farther we travel toward the Center Ring, the more… diverse our enemy types shall become. We should be able to expose you to damage types that will offer you avenues to additional resistances."

I narrow my eyes. "You're saying I can expect to get blasted with fire next?"

"Or poison," Preston says cheerfully. "Acid, necrotic energy, disintegration beams, psychic waves—"

"I get it," I say, waving a hand. Speaking of fire, I think, glancing up towards my new hat. I still haven't received the anticipated System Message about having finally attuned to the damned thing.

"Excellent," Preston says, spinning in his bowl. "Resistance training must continue. You and your healer are quite behind."

"Gee, thanks," Liv mutters. "I only regrew an entire arm! In seconds!"

Walter nods sagely. "Which was impressive. But he also lost that arm. So, you know. Still a net zero."

Liv flips him off. Preston pretends not to notice.

Grush is already tearing into the corpse of the gator to collect its core. During our day-long trek, Preston had used one of the other gator cores and some of the other looted materials to modify my old wizard's hat into a new hat for Jelly Boy. The shape was the same—a prototypical, pointy wizard's hat—but it was now covered in white alligator scales and had a new description.

Item: White-scaled Caster's Cap (Rare)

Description: A caster's hat imbued with the power of the Miredrake Marshes. This item now bestows its wearer with the ability to naturally cultivate Water Mana and Poison Mana.

I sigh and haul myself up. I withdraw my Full Metal Staff.

"Alright. Let's get to this… moraine thing."

Walter adjusts his top hat, bone fingers tapping against the brim. "We should be close."

"Say no more," Liv says. "Let's go."

I'm pouring Stamina into my Full Metal Staff as we complete our day's march. Every step I take, the Staff siphons a few morsels of my vitality. A trickle here. A trickle there. Just enough that I don't notice it. At least, not right away. But my Stamina bar is half-gone by the time I think to check on it, and the small discs of energy on each end of my staff have grown to resemble large plates. I'm carrying a barbell with two forty-five pound plates of muscle magic (thankfully they don't actually weigh that much!)

The ground under my boots finally stops sloshing. The squelching, which has been the background theme of this nightmare hike in spooky hell, fades into blessed silence.

Dry land at last! Part of me wants to drop down and kiss the dirt beneath our feet.

It's not much—just a lumpy stretch of gray-green moss studded with gnarled roots and twisted ferns—but damn it looks beautiful. The best part? No where for giant alligators to hide!

Grush gets to work. The undead behemoth kneels in the gloom, pulling the less-soggy logs from nearby and arranging them into a tidy pile.

Then he snaps his fingers. Sparks fly from his hand and a campfire is conjured before him. A true modern Prometheus! The fire roars to life with a hiss and a scream of damp wood. And just in time, too. The sky above us has started to grow dark.

Liv and I flop down on one side. Preston settles in across from us, his fishbowl glowing faintly green like radioactive bathwater in the light of Grush's fire. Walter sits cross-legged on a rotting log that Grush dragged closer to the campfire. The skeleton's bony hands are clasped together before him. I stow my staff away with a simple mental command and cozy up to the fire's warmth.

"So..." I begin, poking at the fire with a stick from the ground. "These Guardians. What's the deal?"

Walter and Preston had explained the gist of our situation as we marched between giant gator encounters. Apparently, the Miredrake Marshes make up a large swath of the Serpentine Lord's territory. The Marshes themselves are divided into three concentric areas: the Outer Ring (where we currently find ourselves), the Center Ring, and then the Nest. It's within the Nest that we'll find the Hollowroot Bastion.

Preston clicks his tiny undead tongue. "Ah, yes. The loyal enforcers of the Serpentine Lord. Each governs one of the thresholds between the Outer Ring and the Center Ring. The boundary between the Outer and Center Rings is sealed to all but the Serpentine's chosen… or those bearing a proper key."

"Let me guess," Liv says. "These Guardians have the keys?"

"Ding ding," Walter deadpans.

"Charming," I say. "But what do these keys open, exactly?"

Grush groans.

"Exactly, right, Grush," says Preston. "The barrier between the Outer and Center Rings is a deep, and powerful magic. An invisible dome of force."

"Brute force could technically work," Walter adds. "But I doubt any of us could smash through the boundary enchantments, not without sacrificing half this party." He shrugs.

Preston continues, undeterred. "If we can defeat one of the Guardians, we will receive a key that will create a passageway in the barrier. But it will be difficult."

Liv bites her lip. She's staring into the fire intently, and I can tell her mind is racing.

"How difficult are we talking?" I ask.

Walter stretches his arms above his head, bones creaking. "Enough that I'm considering updating my will."

"Amazing," I mutter.

"Rest assured, Joseph. By the time we face a Guardian, we will ensure that you and Liv are both ready. And once inside the Center Ring, it should be a straightforward path to the Nest and the Hollowroot Bastion."

I lean back and feel the weight of the day crush down on me.

"There's one way to ensure I'm stronger between now and whenever we reach one of these Guardians…" I say, mind working.

"Oh?" says Walter.

"Pact of the Novice Scribe," I say.

I see Liv perk up at this.

I explain the ritual spell and how it works.

Walter whistles. It's like wind through manilla folders filled with forgotten tax filings. "I knew you were interesting, kid… But that's very interesting, indeed."

Preston does a lazy circle in his helmet-bowl. "Fascinating. It's a rare ritual. Not one I have heard of. I am certainly willing to assist you in this ritual…"

The goldfish pauses, turns in his bowl and looks at Grush.

Grush is sitting there, stiff and blank faced.

"Grush, I'm afraid, wouldn't have sufficient Mana to fuel this ritual of yours," he adds.

"That tracks," I say.

Walter tips his hat. "I'm willing to participate too… After a night of recovery, that is."

"Yes, we'll need to ensure our reserves are sufficient, lest the ritual fail."

Liv sighs and curls up beside Jelly Boy, who returns the favor, snuggling up against her side.

Walter and Preston begin prepping a perimeter. Arcane circles light up in a slow hum around the edges of our camp. Wards against whatever monsters lurk out in the darkness. Glyphs that burst into green-flame, floating in the air momentarily before dissolving into green fireflies. Grush just sits there, sharpening a large bowie knife.

Once they're done, they let me and Liv know that we can finally rest. The undead don't sleep. They don't need to.

"We'll keep watch," says Walter.

I curl up on the other side of Jelly Boy, pulling my cape tight around me. Liv—surprisingly—is already gently snoring, one arm wrapped around the blue slime, who is also fast asleep. My body feels like it's made of stone, and my eyelids are heavy. And while I want nothing more than to let sleep take me, there are more important things to attend to.

I summon my System interface with a silent command.

It's time to decide what Spell I'm modifying.

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