Silverdawn
patreon
Harmless Human Sacrifice (Mana Devourer) - 48
🕑 Added 2024-07-19 01:52:21 +0000 UTCMarkus’ head returned to his body before it could begin to roll.
Decapitation wasn’t something he was getting used to any time soon…
Fuck! Decapitation isn’t something you’re getting used to?! Big fucking surprise! Big fu—
And he was gone again.
And back.
Gone again.
And back.
He never grew numb to it. Each paralysing blow was another dent in the vestiges of his already fracturing mind… old pain gave way to new pain, repeating and replenishing itself in a cycle that never, ever ended…
Markus was absorbing Flame Mana. That was the only thing he could say for this situation. Somewhere, vaguely, he could hear the ping notifying him before each death that a small portion from the monster’s flaming mace was seeping into his body…
Maybe he could bank enough of it to form a proper counterattack, maybe he could—
The monster kicked him to the ground, shattered his ribs, and stamped on his neck. Markus choked on his own blood as his fingers flailed in a futile attempt to keep his throat in place.
The monster put him out of his misery, braining him with the mace, but Markus still couldn’t fucking breathe after he’d respawned, took two, maybe five more deaths to suck in a proper breath, to get his lungs to work, his brain to work, to remind himself that he still wasn’t…
He wasn’t choking on his own blood.
He wasn’t on fire.
He still had his eyes.
His head was attached.
He’s coming for you again. You’ve seen him attack so many times already, just fucking—
Markus lurched to the side, he clenched his right hand.
He was still holding his glaive. He’d somehow forgot it even existed.
He raised it by the handle in an attempt to block the mace strike…
The weapon bent so hard it snapped…
Markus drove forward with the bladed half, still held in his right hand, screaming, desperate.
A sidestep was all it took. Markus collapsed forwards with his momentum, face smashing into the hard ground below.
He felt a boot press against the back of his head.
And he was gone.
And back.
Weapon still intact.
Weapon still intact…
He’ll swing at me again… don’t sidestep it! Try to block it!
Markus raised his glaive by instinct as the mace came hurtling at him once more.
Wait… I tried to block it last time…
It was so hard to think. To have even a shred of wherewithal. Markus dropped to his knees as the glaive was pulled from his hand, and swiftly found himself staring at his headless body from a good twenty feet away…
And he was back. And gone and back and gone and back and gone and back and FUCKLLLLKLWKEEKWWEAAAAAAAAAAAA
…
He simply screamed for a time. His mind screamed. He couldn’t. It was too much. Like his brain had abcessed, like his entire consciousness had been reduced to a repeating and fluctuating sequence of pains and fears, an unending torture of such proportions that each miniscule fraction of a tenth of a second encroached itself upon Markus in its own explosive declaration of momentary, ceaseless sensation, which only crested and was culminated by the intermixing of yet another, entwining and twisting and morphing and pulsing and pulling and ripping and
How many deaths… how many deaths?
This was a nightmare!
How the fuck was he supposed to fight back?!
How the fuck was he…
“You seem not to be enjoying yourself, Markus!”
Markus didn’t respond. He’d have screamed until his lungs expired, but with how his body was rejuvenated and returned to his previous state upon every incremental demise, they never did.
“What’s that? No witty retort? No desperate attempt to save face?” Randall tutted. “You’re not even pretending to be disaffected. I’m disappointed!”
The words didn’t reach Markus’ brain. His ears, maybe, but nothing else.
For the ruthless and nonstop bombardment he suffered from the monster’s strikes, he at least paused when Randall was talking.
Markus only registered that when the regular pulse of brain or chest splatter was missing.
Before he could realise the implications, however, before he could try to keep Randall talking just a few moments longer, just a few moments he could use to formulate SOMETHING, ANYTHING, he was…
You guessed it. Here and gone and here again.
This might’ve been the worst sensation in conception. Imagine, if you will, stubbing your toe, but that toe is your brain, and that brain is your heartbeat and you
You fucking get it.
You don’t.
I could explain it a thousand times and you fucking wouldn’t.
Ten thousand times…
Ten thousand times…
He was really gonna have to experience this ten thousand times?
How many deaths, how many left?
Maybe a hundred had passed. A hundred and one.
A hundred and two.
A hundred and three.
A hundred and fuck I can’t breathe, I can’t BREATHE!
Markus couldn’t breathe.
And then he could.
And then he couldn’t.
And then he.
A lapse.
This one wasn’t Randall.
The monster paused in his strikes.
He was flexing his arm.
Markus could see him clearly.
His eyes worked perfectly despite the relentless muddle of his brutally violated brain matter.
He’d taken a moment’s pause. His arm was likely a little numb after swinging that mace so much, right?
Markus still held his glaive.
Markus stepped forwards.
He dropped to the floor.
He was so fucking dizzy… the disorientation of his body after being smashed and blasted to pieces so many times over had completely shot his coordination.
He felt his head being stamped on. Felt the cruch of his nose coincide with the fracturing of the back of his skull.
And he came back.
He stumbled and fell.
Died.
Stumbled and fell.
Died.
Managed to take a step.
He dug his feet firmly. Lifted his weapon.
He swung.
Sidestepped. Headbutted. Concussed before he hit the floor. Thoughts scattering into dark oblivion as his head smashed against the unforgiving ground.
He stared up as his vision blurred. He saw two maces swinging at either side of his head.
He was back.
But a part of him felt he’d lost himself twenty deaths ago. Maybe fifty.
As if another version of him held the acuity he needed to win. The focus. The strength of spirit and character.
As if those things that made him him had been drained from Markus entirely.
As if all that stood here now was a meat puppet. A crude approximation of self that could only understand and recognise its own impermanence, could only receive signals through an everfading, always encroaching vertigo of soul, a drifting tide of slipping, drifting thoughts and memories and images that carried no more than echoes of impressions upon his conscience anymore, for he held not the cognisance within him to understand or parse even his own—
Twenty more deaths.
What did he do?
Thirty more.
Why was he here?
A hundred more.
What was his name?
Another pause.
He was being spoken to.
He was being spoken to.
He was Markus, and he was being spoken to.
He was being spoken to.
His head hurt.
He.
A tap against his cheek.
“Are you paying attention to me?” a beautiful man with shining golden eyes asked.
“Randall…”
He’d spoken it. Brain words thought speech brain talk.
“Yes, I am Randall. My, you seem to have entered some kind of vegetative state…” He held a finger up to monster.
“A moment! It’s no fun if he’s too braindead to—”
Markus slipped beneath the words. He couldn’t maintain his balance. He fell to the ground.
Ground. Hard. Felt soft.
Almost soft.
He could sleep…
“I am giving you a short break, so listen to me.”
Markus’ brain snapped to attention. Something compelled him. Broke through the malaise that had clouded him.
It was… Randall. Randall’s Divine Virtue. He could compell Markus to listen.
He snapped his fingers in front of Markus’ face. He waited patiently for Markus’ eyes to move, for him to show any kind of motor function.
It was slow, but it came.
“Ah, good! You’re still with us. I was worried for a moment there.” Randall patted him on the back, like one might a pal. “Want to know how many times I’ve pulled you back from the brink?”
Markus wasn’t sure. Hundreds, surely. Maybe more. He didn’t wanna kn—
“Ninety-three.” Markus felt his heart slam against his chest at the words.
Randall reconsidered. “Or was it four-hundred?”
Markus blinked. His body slumped.
“Perhaps it was five thousand! You could be halfway already! Wouldn’t that be wonderful for you?”
Markus’ lip quivered. His eyes filled with tears. He snarled. Tears streamed from his eyes as he swung his glaive at Randall, putting every ounce of force he could into the attack, Empowering his weapon with Spirit Mana of the highest Grade.
The weapon stopped at his chest; the metal splintered in half down the middle. It didn’t even cut through his robes.
“I hate you…”
“Now, is that any way to talk to someone who’s saved your life countless times?” Randall tutted, wagging his finger at Markus. “And here I was about to give you a chance to turn things around! Don’t you want that?”
Markus wanted that more than anything. He didn’t know if he could take this any more. He was sure he couldn’t. He’d already reached his breaking point. He was beyond it.
And yet…
“I would never…”
His throat was hoarse. Perhaps he only thought it was.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Randall asked, cupping his ear, moving closer.
Markus stared into the cruel god’s mirthful, joyous eyes.
He found his voice.
“I would NEVER take a shred of help from you!”
“Well… too bad! I want to spice things up.”
Markus watched as the monster placed his mace on the floor—its flames remained burning a few inches before him as he rolled his shoulder, massaging it with his other hand.
All the while, Randall produced a shiny metal object. It was a staff… no, a cane?
Black and gold, gilded and covered in intricate symbols, adorned with a white sheen that glowed about the weapon’s edges even as it floated in midair…
Markus watched as Randall grabbed the manifested golden weapon and tossed it to Markus’ feet.
“Wh-wha—”
“My Divine Arm!” Randall laughed, as if he were privy to an extremely funny joke. “Go ahead, try it! Give it a couple of swings, you might just like its power!”
Markus stared at it like it was a venomous snake. This had to be some kind of trick. This was some kind of trick. This was…
“I know what you’re thinking…” Randall sighed. He shrugged his shoulders. “You’re right. There is a catch. Though I didn’t know it when I was chosen to be Firrelia’s Benevolence… no! I didn’t!”
He teleported inches away from Markus. Placed his hand over Markus’ ear. Whispered to him, so low he could scarcely hear the words.
“Not many people know what my Divine Arm does…”
Markus could feel the smirk materialising inches from him, even if he couldn’t see it. It sent bugs crawling along his spine, while his whispers made them burrow to the deepest layers of his skin.
“I was once someone else. I’m not entirely sure who, but I’m sure all the same. When I was chosen to be Benevolence…” He rambled off, made an unintelligible collection of sounds as he seemed to ponder his next word choice.
“When I was chosen, I was given the staff. Use it to be the beacon of hope within your world, to give freely to those who need it,” he recited in an uncharacteristically low voice, following with a whimsical sigh. “Ah, that I remember…”
He raised his voice. Snapped against Markus’ ear. “What they don’t tell you is that giving freely isn’t free, no, no, nooo it has a cost! A cost. A cost. A cost… that is exacted by… that staff.
“Do you know what the cost is, Markus?
“Do you know what they take from you?
“What they took from me?
“Well?
“Do you? Do you? Do you?
“Try to guess.
“Guess!
“No guesses?”
Markus attempted to flinch away. Randall kept him held in place. There was no moving. Not even the beginning of a chance of movement.
“It’s alright,” Randall said, sounding sincere. He relinquished his hold, came around to face Markus. Picked up the staff. “I wouldn’t have guessed once, either. I had no clue whatsoever. No. I was just so excited to have been chosen, to do good unto the world! Maybe. I’m not entirely sure what it is that I wanted…”
He pointed at the staff. “And that’s because this thing, each time I used it to grant someone wealth, to ensure a bountiful harvest, to divert a horrific storm, to down an ancient beasty, to scour this land of evil, to save a child’s life… THIS THING…”
He took a deep breath. Markus watched as his chest puffed. He breathed calm.
“This thing. It took from me in turn! It took not my memories, not of my actions, at least… I remember all of those.
“But of the faces? Of the people I helped? Of the reasons I did it? Of those I cared about? Of the parents that raised me? Of the first girl I loved, the first man I loved, the first friend I had, the first followers I’d gained, the things I’d loved to do, the aspirations I’d had, the hobbies I’d enjoyed, the dreams and wishes and cares and regrets and everything that ever made me a person?”
He tapped the staff. He smiled. “That is what the gods above demanded for my service. That was what this Divine Arm cherished, what it claimed from me in exchange for my service.”
He chuckled. Tapped his staff again. Gold coins began to spill from the air, raining down around both of them.
“This was the only desire it left etched within me, the only thing it didn’t take away! A desire for wealth! For Money! For Control! I had no control left, after all, and with such power at my disposal, it was the only thing I could have! Every good thing in my life had been ground down past the skin, past the nub, down to the salted slug of bitter emptiness that greedily consumed each and every impediment on my path to true enlightenment!”
Markus’ eyes refused to move. He couldn’t stop staring. He couldn’t look away.
Randall was crazed. His eyes glistened with moisture.
“I pushed aside those useless half memories I couldn’t recall. Those locked cores within my mind, that pulsed within my spirit with whispers of half-faded dreams. Had I had a wife? A husband? A mother? A father? A sister, a stranger, all of them were! I could remember each word that I’d spoken, but not to whom! Not why! Each thing I’d done, but for what purpose? For what enjoyment? For who did these behaviours define?”
He shook his head. Wiped his face. “Not me. Not Randall. Someone else. Someone burdened with attachments. Someone blissfully, stupidly free.”
Randall tapped Markus’ glaive. It fell from his hands.
He placed the cane into Markus’ hands. It was light. Easy to grip. Cool to the touch.
“Use my weapon. Use it to fight your way out.” He smiled, almost as if he cared. “It’s easy to use. Its power is within your grasp. Use it to cut down that muck. Let it take from you as it did from me. Let me watch you lose yourself. Strip your own humanity away. Then you’ll understand how I feel. What remains when all good is gone.”
Markus stared at the weapon that now laid in his hands. It pulsed with strength unlike nothing he’d felt before.
“It’s easy. I promise. Each swing will take a memory from you. A loved one, a connection. Perhaps something else you care about, a hobby or a vocation or a song that once entered your mind. It’ll itch at the back of your mind eternally, but it will never come…” He giggled. “It’s like a fun game! Test it out! See what you lose! What do you have to lose? Everything! Hahahahaha!”
Markus stared down at the cane. His hand quivered and shook.
Lose something he loved. Someone he loved…
“You need an incentive?” Randall asked, looking unimpressed. “Here.”
The monster caved his skull in once more.
And again.
And again.
Randall stood right beside him the entire time.
Could he… could he forget about this? This entire place?
About home…
There were so many things he wanted to forget about at home.
So many things his mind would be better off without, that kept him up at night, that…
Markus cast the weapon down. He fished for his glaive.
There were so many things he needed to remember. That he sitll had left to do. Things he’d die for, as many times as it took, before he’d ever lose who the fuck he was…
How many deaths… how many chances?
Markus managed to grab his weapon. The blade was still shattered, half of it missing. He stabbed forth with it anyways.
He missed.
He died.
He grabbed and thrusted.
Missed.
Died.
Thrust.
Again.
Again.
Again and again and again…
Again.
His Malichor Frenzy was ramping up even as he continued to die. The passives were running in full effect. He was becoming stronger and faster with each strike. While the enemy became slower, Markus only sped up.
He grabbed. He thrusted. He stabbed. He Empowered, he imbued.
He struggled.
He died.
He panted.
He screamed.
He pushed.
He strained…
He landed his first blow.
His broken blade pressed against the creature’s stomach…
Markus twisted the handle.
The crowd roared.
Randall growled…
The wheel turned.
Comments
Ben Bass
TYFTC! I knew Markus was going to come close to if not break, and you have done an amazing job showing him losing himself, and starting to find himself again. I was not expecting that Randall’s weapon was what made him the psychopath he is, or that he wants to turn Markus into one as well. I like the mention of that “All that was Markus was somewhere else” That sounds like his psyche separated that aspect of himself in order to protect his overall sanity. Let’s see how this finishes as his passives and all start ramping up and his opponent gets tired from killing him so many times.
Tyler VanBuren
This Patreon is worth every penny. Amazing work, Silverdawn.
