Osamaru Ta
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Book 1 - Lesson 63: "When the time on the clock is running down, switch in fresh players."
🕑 Added 2023-09-11 19:58:32 +0000 UTCMeh, might need a new title? What do you think?
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“What do you mean they’re gone?!” the woman’s voice shook the very room.
Tuguslar didn’t flinch when the shockwave hit her, nor when the sharp black steel knife flew past his head, leaving a shallow cut. An outsider would think the man was stoic, the perfect picture of calm. The truth was, it could be dangerous to take your eyes off Hera when she was in one of her… moods. A lifetime of dealing with the woman’s outbursts had honed his defenses against her wrath to their peak.
The others in the room were… less adept at such. One of the six black-clad humans gathered in the Heart stepped forward, wringing their hands as they spoke. “Y-your lady, it-it’s not our fault! As planned, we led the interlopers into the library, and the [Death Veil] array activated without a hitch. Yet, when we checked, there were no bodies. Do not fear though, I can asu—”
Hera snarled and waved her hand. Instantly, all six humans burst into black flames. They screamed for only a moment before collapsing into piles of ash. Tuguslar stared at Hera, his hands behind his back, a bored look on his face the entire time.
Once the screaming stopped and the flames died out, Tuguslar stepped forward, brushing a bit of ash off his robes. Hera sneered down at him and said. “What is it, halfbreed? Come to give me excuses as well?”
Tuguslar’s mouth twitched slightly, but he turned it into a smile at the last moment, spreading his arms out wide. “Why, of course not, High Priestess. Everything is going according to plan, is it not?” he said.
Hera ground her teeth. “I don’t remember a bunch of insects running around my city being part of the plan, boy! Now, the streets are filled with raging elementals, and even the very walls have turned against us. Please… enlighten me.”
Tuguslar nodded and responded, “True, the elementals are causing problems, but they’re also causing problems for the enemy. It doesn’t matter where the humans and that dog Artemis have disappeared to. Time is on our side.” He waved to the to the Heart behind Hera. Three of the five altars were silent, the keystones sitting atop them dead and drained. The fourth directed a beam of white energy toward the heart, but even now, it was dimming, flickering. Soon, it would be as lifeless as the other three. Tuguslar continued, “Even if they somehow slip their way through both the elementals and the elites around the outer temple, they’re out of time. We’ve already won.”
Hera paused, frowning, and turned to face the floating Heart. The iridescent rainbow light still fought against the black, inky darkness above, but without the support of the keystones, cracks were already forming along its surface. Tuguslar was right. There’s no way the interlopers could interfere now. And once the ritual was finished, not even the Prima could stop her.
Her frown slowly morphed into a smile as the fourth keystone sputtered and died.
She turned her gaze to the small Akh’lut pup chained to the final altar. Yes… It was time they finished this.
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The Captain’s grip on his spear tightened, and his frown deepened. Things were… not going well. The city had put up a valiant defense, but the enemy was endless and tireless. Even with the four gate houses pushing themselves to exhaustion, the city’s defenses were being chipped away little by little. If things were kept as they were, something would eventually give. One of the lines would collapse, and the undead would flood over the wall and into the city beyond.
He stood on the top of the wall and looked beyond. The undead seemed endless, and the horde grew thicker by the moment. Their front line had already been pushed back several times, and it wouldn’t be long before the soldiers fought with their backs to the wall. The Captain turned to General Westgate beside him and asked, “Any news?”
General Westgate shook his head and responded, “No. The children’s artifacts haven’t been able to reach the other cities. The chaotic Spirit energy in the area seems to be throwing off their controls. Even your daughter can only reach 10 kilometers away from the city before losing control, and she’s proven to be the most adept.”
The Captain could only sigh. That was a shame. Not that they were expecting any genuine support. If the Jadewalkers were struggling this badly against the enemy, then it was likely the other cities wouldn’t be able to help either. He looked off into the distance and said, “Then we can only pray the Runners could make it…”
They’d sent every Runner in the city toward the edge of the Radiant Sea the moment the undead had been spotted. It was a long shot, but at the very least, the Sects needed to be made aware of what was happening.
The general turned to look in the same direction and nodded.
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John clutched his bleeding arm to his side and lept over another undead as it pushed its way out of the ground, then twirled around the blow of another. It scraped across his shoulder, drawing another red line, but John barely felt it.
If he was honest, He didn’t feel much of anything anymore.
Over 700 Runners had departed from Jadewalker city. A small number, considering it was such a large place, even with all the runners from the smaller outlying villages gathered together. But most of those were true city runners, strong cultivators who ran the prairies alone, transporting important documents and packages between cities.
Those runners like himself who stuck to their village were an anomaly. Such duties were typically given to young and inexperienced runners. Not that John was ashamed. He knew himself and knew that he wasn’t suited to that kind of life. There was no shame in that, he felt.
So how did he end up in this mess?!
When the runners had left the city, they had eventually split into smaller and smaller groups until only teams of five were left. The idea was to spread out along the border and hit as many target locations as possible. It had been going well at first. It might take a caravan two or three weeks to reach the Sects from the Earth Shrine, but a trained Runner could make the same trip in only two days.
Yet, as the Darkest Night progressed, things started to shift. The prairies were becoming more dangerous as time passed, and the groups began being harassed by the undead. Not just Grassbreakers but a wide variety of undead began appearing from the grasses as the Runners passed by. John remembered hearing some Guardians mention a sharp decline in wildlife over the last few months.
Most had assumed it was just creatures preparing for the Apex like everyone else. When the survivors from the disastrous graduation trip returned, speculation and rumors shifted to the Beast Lord and his army. Even then, no one could explain why the Beast Lord would do such a thing. Even an army could only eat so much, after all.
As John observed the various undead creatures along their path, a new theory formed in his mind. What if the Beast Lord wasn’t feeding an army? What if he was building one? The Runner had quickly pushed the chilling thought from his mind; that was way above his pay grade, after all.
Nonetheless, the undead had soon started to become a menace and then a serious problem. Not long after, they started losing runners. Only a few at first. Sometimes, they’d be driven into an abyss, those great sinkholes dotting the praises. An unlucky few had larger undead pop up right from under them. While others still simply couldn’t keep up the pace needed to outrun the undead.
Soon, John was the last remaining runner of his own group of five. Something he only attributed to his acute sense of danger, honed over decades of avoiding the sometimes malicious pranks of the Slatewalker children. He’d long passed the point of exhaustion. He didn’t even know how the other groups of runners were doing.
Not too long ago, he could still hear them running far in the distance. Or the soul-chilling screams. Had they pulled far enough away he couldn’t hear them any longer? Or had they all fallen? Was he the last? He didn’t know. The only fear and the unrelenting undead drove him on.
Now, the only thing he could hear were the moans of the undead and his own racing heartbeat.
John dodged another undead as it snapped at him, barely catching the hem of his ragged uniform.
That’s all it took.
The sudden jerking motion threw off his balance, and John didn’t have the Spirit energy to correct himself. He stumbled, then fell, bleeding off his remaining momentum as he tumbled through the grass several times. John pushed himself up on shaking arms and coughed up a bit of blood. His vision blurring, John turned and looked at the undead that had grabbed him as it slithered out of the grass.
In life, it would have been a regal thing. A long, serpentine body with glossy scales that could mimic the color of the surrounding grass. Deep red eyes that looked down on everything and a thick ‘hood’ that had always reminded John of a snooty noble’s popped collar protecting its head. The Phantom Grass Emperor was one of the apex predators of the prairies.
Although its scales were now dull and peeling, its hood torn, and its head half-skeletal, John knew he wouldn’t have ever stood a chance against this creature, even if he’d been in peak form.
The creature slowly slithered closer, a rotting tongue flicking in and out. It stopped a few meters away, and John’s body froze. Maybe something of the creature’s arrogant nature was still left, as the runner could have sworn he saw the thing smile as it leered down at him.
As he saw his death approach, John clinched his heart, feeling a pain distinctly different from the physical soreness of the overworked muscle. Was this really all his life would amount to? Regret filled his heart, and John clenched his teeth. Even at the end, he hadn’t been able to help anyone.
The Phantom Grass Emperor hissed, a rattling thing caused by a rotting throat, and reared back to strike, its mouth opening even wider than possible when it was alive.
Twang!
The zombified Phantom Grass Emperor screamed as a dozen icy arrows slammed into it, covering it in a layer of frost. The creature hissed again and turned around, attempting to escape into the cover of the grass.
Twang! Twang!
More arrows crashed into it, pinning it to the ground and encasing the top portion of its body in ice. A shadow erupted from the grass behind John. His blurry vision could barely make out the form of a muscular woman swinging an enormous flail. The metal ball hit the frozen Phantom Grass Emperor with an explosive bang, shattering the creature’s top half into dozens of icy chunks.
The woman landed in front of John with a light touch despite the massive size of the weapon in her hands. She grinned like a wild woman and stomped on the largest chunk of the creature’s frozen head, shattering it further. She then turned to John and winked before vanishing into the grass further ahead.
A flood of weakness swept through John, and he collapsed. Only to be caught in delicate arms. He slowly turned his head to look into the eyes of an angel dressed in a black sundress. The young woman smiled sweetly down at him and raised a glowing hand to his chest.
Intense pain shot through his body, to where he almost passed out, but it was soon replaced with a warm comfort that made him feel like he was melting.
A third figure, this time an old man dressed in elegant white robes, walked into Jonh’s vision. The old man stroked his beard and asked the angel-in-black, “How is he?”
The angel answered in a soft voice. “That he’s even awake, let alone able to move, is a miracle. I’ve never seen a body of this low cultivation pushed to such extremes. It’s impressive in its own right. But… I think he’ll make it.”
The old man nodded. “Good. Good. Bring him to the others in the back, then let’s move on.”
The angel nodded, then lifted a limp John in her arms. Before she could move, however, John reached out and hooked the old man’s robe with a finger. The old man paused and turned, an eyebrow raised.
His hand shaking, John slowly reached into his runner’s satchel, removed a single letter, and passed it to the man. The old man’s eyes widened, but he softly smiled as he took the letter and placed it in the sleeve of his robe. He then spoke to John. “You’ve done well, young man. Now leave the rest to us.”
The last thing John saw before the warmth and darkness dragged him under was the sight of countless shadows rushing through the grass past them and the undead swept away in their wake.
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Elder Wu Song frowned as he watched Qi Mingxi bring the unconscious runner to the back of the small army. This was the first living runner they’d come across, though reports from the scouts suggested there were still a good number along their path yet to save.
“Ohy! Tha’ boy’s impressive. For a mailman, at least. Might see if he wants a job after’ll this mess is done.”
Elder Wu Song frowned and turned to the mountain of a man who’d appeared beside him. How such a large man was so quiet astounded the Elder. Though maybe that was to be expected of No. 1.
The Leader of the mercenary group, simply called ‘the Camp,’ couldn’t be someone so simple as his “bandit king” appearance might lead others to believe. The short time Wu Song had spent with the man left no doubt that the Camp Leader’s mind was as sharp as his blade.
Wu Song turned and looked deeper into the Radiant Sea. “It seemed your intel was accurate, No. 1. I’m glad we could catch this when we could. If the undead had spilled out of the prairies…” he said.
The large man laughed and responded. “Aye. Though I’m surprised you Origin folk were so quick on the draw yourself. Almost like you knew something was ‘bout to happen…”
Wu Song coughed and turned away. “We have our ways.”
The old man turned, frowned at the swirling dark clouds in the distance, and muttered. “I just hope we’re not too late…”
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hhhhhuie
"when time is down, switch in (the) fresh (players)"?
