BlueShear
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Chapter 86
🕑 Added 2024-11-13 19:03:41 +0000 UTCEleanor’s short sword moved with liquid grace and finely tuned precision.
Legs sweeping, body rotating, smoothly transitioning from one blade stance to another. Effectively cordoning off a small space for themselves within the greater battlefield as a whole. A temporary oasis in the eye of the storm, her swirling river of ruby red petals.
The only downside?
The steady mist of blood—and worse, so so much worse—which saw fit to drench her, bone shards to pelt her, as the uncountable hoard of unthinking rift spawn continued to throw themselves, headlong, into her churning crystalline blender.
Between stances, she managed to pluck a soul fruit from her satchel. The very same she’d been saving for just such an occasion. A multifaceted thing of glittering diamond, it wasn’t difficult to plant it between the slackened jaw and parched lips of her wayward familiar.
At which point, despite the mangled look of his face—the white of bone visible where it surely oughtn’t be, large flaps of skin barely clinging to his skull, and far more of his teeth currently missing than not—it nevertheless disappeared in three quick bites.
An incredibly potent soul fruit found at the heart of a certain desert sand worm, she was unsurprised to see the worst of his injuries begin to visibly knit back together. Waves of heat and sparking blue embers—the bleeding excess of the overly potent soul energies—languidly pulsing from his many open wounds.
Three minutes.
That was how long it took for his body to be returned to some semblance of mobility. In that time, Eleanor honestly lost count of the number of rift spawn to die by her petal storm. Needless to say, she was thoroughly caked in blood by this point, while the run off, a stinking red slurry of unmentionable origins, had risen to at least ankle height, and showed no signs of stopping any time soon.
Staggering to his feet, she could immediately see the light of insanity glinting in his eyes. That mad impulse of his to charge straight back into the fray. With a huff of exasperation—because, really now, what in the world could he possibly be thinking—Eleanor couldn’t say she took no pleasure in putting an immediate damper on his parade.
“Nope! Nuh-uh, there’ll be none of that!” she snapped. “We may only have seconds before my petals storm runs dry. We need to extract ourselves. Now! I’ve already signaled Lucile.”
“But-!”
“And, no, before you say anything, I cannot just break another one.” Eleanor gestured towards the dozen or so flowers slowly orbiting her head. “We all agreed in advance that it’d be better to hold them in reserve for now, even if chaining them would be more satisfying in the moment. We’re auxiliary. Shock troopers. We act as disruption. The distraction our compatriots need to shore up any holes in our frontline.”
“But-!”
“No buts! This is war. It’s not like we could take them on all by ourselves at any rate. Better to save our strength for the areas in greatest need. That might benefit from the relief we can offer.”
“Wherever that starch pressed stuck up major decides to send us, you mean. Talk about a bloody power trip. Throw a dart at a map with your bloody eyes closed, why don’t you? Here doggie, fetch.”
“Where we can help the most in need.”
Jun grumbled a bit at this, but otherwise subsided. He didn’t go haring out into the thick of things, at any rate. Though he couldn’t seem to help himself from staring out longingly at her river of petals, as if he could see well past it, into the veritable hellscape beyond. She even thought she saw his bottom lip tremble.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You’ll get another chance to throw yourself into mortal danger I’m sure. Won’t take but a minute. Look, there’s our ride.”
Two forceful jets of water preceded them, like being dunked beneath the rapids of an icy mountain stream.
The steady flap of massive wings only served to further herald their arrival. Their simultaneous casting washed away the last sticky remnants of battle. Their way of seeking protection against what was sure to be a formidable stench indeed.
Now at least marginally clean, if a great deal colder—say what you will about being caked in gore, it, at least, acted as something of an insulator—Eleanor spared a quick glance up towards her team, a slight grin already tugging at her lips. Only for her to freeze in sudden incomprehension. Because, though Lucile and her aerial unit were exactly where she’d expected them to be, behind them, there was just… nothing.
A blank nothingness.
A void that seemed to stretch across great swathes of the overcast sky. A void that seemed to be moving, rippling, expanding to consume the grand firmament in an ever growing tide of impenetrable darkness. And then, inexplicably, small beads of light began to puncture the void. Tiny pinpoints of glowing crimson.
First a couple, then a dozen, then several hundred or more. Tiny dots of light amidst an ever expanding darkness. Only when they came closer, did she realize that the wriggling parts of the incomprehensible mass were—to the contrary of every one of her expectations—a series of black writhing tentacles.
***
“I do, don’t I? I swear, your face is so darn familiar. I just can’t seem to place it for the life of me. Blast! I’m terribly sorry about this. I mean, talk about the social faux pas, am I right?” R. Jun chuckled. “I really am drawing a blank though, aren’t I? Dammit! I could’ve sworn we’ve met somewhere before! It’s on the tip of my tongue, I swear! Hold on a moment…! Don’t tell me, do you perform at parties by any chance?”
A low rumble emanated from the deep chested Cthulle. A bone deep reverberation. A tremulous vibration which traveled from said chest, along its left arm, through its thick fingers, and, from there, down the full length of his spine—feeling as if a mild electric charge were washing through his central nervous system.
“Carnivals? Circuses? Children’s birthday celebrations? No?”
It’s many brethren hanging about them, each as still as the grave. Hundreds of bodies, their faces and figures completely obscured. Lost, buried, surrendered to the dark. Impenetrable and infinite as it so seemed. A dark forest entirely of their own making, it was the apparent antithesis of natural light. Dotted periodically with glowing red irises, the overlapping of void flesh leaving room for ought else.
A sea of crimson stars amidst an all encompassing, and utterly foreign night sky.
“Ahah!” Jun snapped his fingers. “That’s where I know you! I just knew I recognized you from somewhere. Clowns! I was thinking of clowns. And no wonder! After all, you’re that brute I made a fool out of, ah, when was that again…? Must have been a year ago. Yes, that sounds about right. The dog I saw fit to discipline a year ago now, though I can already tell the lesson I tried to instill somehow failed to catch. Such a shame.”
The Cthulle’s growl only deepened, reaching whole new levels of unspoken menace. Touching upon frequencies, so ominously low, that they were as much felt as they were heard. Meanwhile, the fingers loosely wrapped about his neck slowly constricted, an almost unconscious tightening of its grip.
“Oh! Heavens. Don’t tell me. You wouldn’t happen to hold a grudge now would you? Terrible things, grudges. How’s the eye by the way? Is it still giving you trouble?”
The space around the scarred beast erupted into motion. Lashing tendrils of… something, striking out randomly. Churning. Seething. Incensed beyond belief. And well beyond all reason, if you asked him. It was an aura, of that much he was certain, albeit one he’d yet to come across thus far. A null space. A roiling emptiness. Although, for all intents and purposes, visually, if not spiritually, not much appeared to change.
For all the effect it had on him, the aura itself was invisible. Intangible. It felt strange. Like slipping his hand into a bowl of water, so uncannily adjusted to his body’s temperature, that he might have been wearing a glove fashioned of nothing at all. A nothing that nevertheless held palpable weight. An undeniable presence. Only, in this instance, it wasn’t his extremity so burdened by this inscrutable weight, but his very soul itself.
Immediately, Jun felt a blank despondency come over him, smothering him beneath the musty damp of a burial shroud. A corpse like lassitude. Himself powerless to act. To do anything but watch, as all of his hopes, his dreams and desires, his pleasures and his pains, were swiftly drained away.
Sapped of all their vibrancy. Their glowing vitality.
Everything that made him him scoured mercilessly, drowned out by concentrated apathy, leaving naught but a blank slate in their wake. Until all that was left was that feeling of despondency, before that too faded into the background. To be replaced by only numbness. Insensibility. Void.
Ding!
Congratulations!
You have formed a Single Aspected Mantra.
Mantra: [Move. Move! MOVE you feckless halfwit moron! MOVE!] (1st Aspected)
Grade: (Trash Quality)
Note: Due to the advent of your Ascendant Level Boon, this Mantra’s default grade has been raised.
[Move. Move! MOVE you feckless halfwit moron! MOVE!] (Poor Quality) +2 resonance.
Ding!
Congratulations!
Your resonance pillar has ascended.
Advanced from |Traveled Copper| [50 of 50] to |Bloodied Iron| [1 of 70].
Tempered by fire and baptized in blood, the path you choose leaves many dead in your wake—like unto stepping stones before your rapid ascension. The path spreads out before you, vast and inscrutable as always, yet it’s only now that you realize it is not a single road you contemplate, but many. Some call to you more than others, though whether you choose to heed their summons still remains to be seen. You make out shapes in the dark spots between the stars. You are unsurprised when something unknowable looks back.
Clarity rushed back to the fore like a raging tsunami. Assaulting his mind in one massive, uncontrollable, and deeply traumatic instant. Like snapping wide awake, abruptly shaken from something akin to sleep, except far, far more final than that. More permanent by a great order of magnitude.
His body was moving before his mind had fully caught up. He screamed, shoved, lashed out with all his might. His reaction instinctual, bestial, without thought, nor sanity, nor reason. Only raw emotion and the desperate need to get away. To never be subjected to that state of bland nothingness again.
Sword Cyclone!
Spearing Hand!
Titan’s Fist!
Blade Manipulation!
Blades flew, ruby daggers spun, exploding forth by the tens, the hundreds, the thousands. Only to bounce off the scar faced Cthulle like a swarming host of gnats. He swung, struck. Pounding away at the hand that grasped him. Stabbing mercilessly at the joints of the arm that held him. Blood flew, splattered across his face, though pitifully little, all things told.
Barely a second had passed since he’d begun his rapid, one sided exchange, and he hadn’t managed to deliver more than a few token scratches, each shallow and visibly sealing before his eyes. Red lines to mark its seemingly impenetrable hide. Cutting blades shattered against its skin just as fast as he could conjure them. His spearing hand pierced little, and titans fist couldn’t do much without the requisite time to charge.
If he were thinking clearly, he might’ve used his body’s temple cutting evasion to make some space for himself, to possibly regroup.
Though, if that were the case, he might’ve done a great many things differently. For instance, if he’d had the wherewithal to think clearly, he might have been surprised to find the world physically shudder as he continued his assault. Quake in response to the leveraging of his will. Give way to his mantras with far more alacrity than it had previously.
To shy away where it had easily withstood his every effort mere seconds before. A little less real than he was now, this wasn’t an unheard of reaction, all things told. To a sufficiently high resonance pillar, the rules that governed most lower pillar realities were minor suggestions at best.
A cultivator of the bloodied iron pillar? Housed within a realm ill equipped to handle such a heightened presence? It was no wonder the very fabric of the realm seemed to fray and stretch at his touch.
Unfortunately, being marginally more real than the Cthulle slowly choking the life from him, wasn’t nearly enough to even the odds. So far, despite everything he’d thrown at it, the beast had barely moved, hadn’t even flinched. And neither had any of its siblings, now that he thought of it.
For the second time that day, R. Jun came back to himself. The seriousness of his situation crashing down on him like a bucket of cold water. There was a jolt of recognition, of comprehension, then a grim anxiety. And just like that, his wits were about him once more. And with his sanity came strategy, industrious mind already hard at work.
Body’s Temple | Cutting Evasion!
