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DML (OLD) — C8
🕑 Added 2024-06-09 03:02:28 +0000 UTCRegul Black– Former prodigy of House Black, now budding Dead Apostle sat quietly on his grey couch, staring intensely at his monstrous creations as his mind wandered. They survived, two of the Enforcers sent by the Tower survived. The mere fact enraged him as he threw the glass of blood from his hand then slumped back in dismay. The feeling was short-lived however, as years of training to be the Black heir soon kicked in. "So they defeated my creations." Regul's face turned expressionless at that. He licked his lips, the blood having not satisfied his appetite in the slightest.
For the umpteenth time Regul cursed his current nature. Yes, he had chosen this path to gain immortality and further expanded on his family's generations of works, but the thirst and cravings had only increased with each passing day. Even the mundane in this backwater had begun to notice his affairs now, the compulsions doing nothing to deter the growing rumors of monsters that came out at night, hunting for fresh preys. It was becoming increasingly harder to find humans to serve as food and materials for his research.
If that wasn't bad enough, he had two Enforcers knocking at his doors. Sure, they didn't look all that experienced, but he had seen them in battles through the eyes of his creations, and they weren't to be trifled with. In fact, it wouldn't be a stretch to say in a frontal assault, Regul would lose nine times out of ten, and that bothered him. It bothered him a lot that some stuck-up brats could possess powers and abilities to face head-on him despite their ages, while he had had to work his ass off and struggle tooth-and-nail for every last bit of scraps before finally being titled heir.
Some would say it was due to his own lack of talents, but Regul wasn't untalented. He was simply born in the wrong Era– An Era where Magecraft was a dying Art, Magical children were disappearing slowly, but surely, and every Mage had not even a tenth of their ancestors' might. Yes, he was just born in the wrong Era. Had he been born hundreds years back, he could have achieved what his most infamous ancestor– William Black could not. The perfect disease– The Ultimate Curse. Perhaps even the vaunted True Magics would be well within his grasp…
Now all of his efforts, all those works and sleepless nights were at risk, thanks to two young children who probably hadn't grown hair where it mattered yet. Regul wiped the sweats that had gathered after the most recent surgery and modification attempt he had performed on his greatest prize. He didn't even know Apostles could sweat, though he supposed no one really knew, considering the diversity in the group known as Apostles. Every Apostle was unique, every one of them ascended with different methods that ultimately led to the same result.
A monstrous, bloodthirsty Vampire.
Truly, it was just one problem after the other. He really should have checked for possible survivors when he realized Z-039 had been compromised, though to be fair, he was riding on the high of his successes at the time, so much so that the thoughts that those meddling Enforcers could be alive never even occurred to him. Staring at the blood that stained where he had thrown his glass, Regul gestured for one of his puppets to get more food. Not one of those homeless bums that stank to high heaven, but one of the delightfully delicious college girls he had recently acquired.
As he waited for his creation, Regul leaned back in his couch, gaze trained on the eight feet tall, twitching creature in his glass tank. Soon, soon it would wake, his most prized creation would walk amongst these lowly filths and destroy all his enemies. He just needed to be patient, and maybe threw more puppets at those two approaching Enforcers to buy time. "I hope you treasure your victories over those failed experiments well, Enforcers. For soon enough, you will have to face the wrath of my greatest creation." Regul chuckled, elongated nails clawing the glass tank gently.
.
.
.
"Why on all that's good and Holy are you here, you half-witted fool? Have you lost your mind, or your will to live perhaps?!" I roared at the trembling monk, whose head had lowered as he shifted his feet nervously. "I- I thought you guys were up to something bad, and I wanted to be t- there to stop you if the need arises." I gave him a blank stare, my grip on the Black Keys slowly loosening in disbelief. "You know what? Sure Sven, you can kill him. I'm just done." Sven's sadistic grin sent the monk scampering back as he shouted for my help. Haaaaaa, I hated being a somewhat decent person sometimes.
"That's enough, Sven. He has had enough–" I paused to throw a cold smile at Takashi. "I'm sure he has learnt his lesson, and he won't ever do something like this again, right?"
Takashi rapidly nodded as retreated, still on his back. "Are you serious, Leo? Look at the idiot, he will die even if we don't kill him, and we have no time to play nanny for him! Just let me end his miserable life quickly and be done with it!" Sven roared, anger dying his face red and purple. "You said it yourself, he's going to die regardless, why waste time on killing him at all? Just leave him to his Fate. If he dies he dies, if he lives then good for him." I shrugged, uncaring of the monk's growing worry and fear.
Sven grabbed my arm angrily. "He has seen too much! Who knows who else he will tell this to?! I was willing to spare him because he has no evidence, but the situation is different now! He could very well lead people to this place and we would be absolutely fucked! Even the people of this City will be killed to keep the secrecy of our World, is that what you want?" I rubbed my head tiredly, this damned monk, why did he have to make this so much harder for me? The fucking dumbass should have kept to himself.
"I- I won't tell anyone, I swear! I'll keep my mouth shut even if Buddha himself asked me about what happened here today, please don't kill me!" The cowardly monk clutched his head to his knees, while I stared Sven in the eyes, trying my best to convey my emotions and appear as non-threatening as I could. "We're better than this, Sven. We don't have to kill everyone we come across, we don't have to kill innocents… I'll deal with him myself, please just trust me."
Sven glared back, fists clenched as he huffed and left us to ourselves. I spat at the monk, ice lining my words. "Look what you did, you fucking half-witted donkey." Then I knelt by his side. "Look at me, if any of this gets out, if even a whisper of this mess is circulated in the street, everyone here in the City will die, and it will be on your head, do you understand? Those that come after us won't be as merciful as me, they will slaughter down to the last infant to keep the Supernatural a secret. Hell, some of them might even enjoy it… So you better keep your mouth shut, or so help me Gods I will skin you alive and rip out your tongue, do you understand?"
The monk hurriedly nodded, face growing pale with fear as my hands clamped down on his shoulders and my eyes glowed with ambient power. [Hell King's Engine] had activated on its own without my knowledge, but that served my purpose just fine as the thumping of rapid heartbeats and the baleful cries of the Fuyuki Fire's victims grew increasingly louder, it was only until the stench of piss reached my nose that I allowed him out of my grip. "And don't ever try to spy on someone else again, everyone has to privacy. If I catch you doing this again… Well, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you what will happen, do you?"
I didn't wait for him to answer as I quickened my steps to follow the pissed-off Glascheit. Urggghh, why did all these troublesome things have to happen to me? I just wanted to finish the Quest and get some cool rewards… Was the Universe fucking with me? It was, wasn't it? "Oh and, keep up, we won't wait for you if you get lost. Keep to the shadows, avoid all those creatures you just saw and do not mess up. We– Or rather, I won't save you."
…
As it would turn out, the monk didn't simply have a gift in resisting mental influence, he was also uncannily adept at sneaking around people. Like, if I hadn't where to look, I wouldn't have known he was here at all. The darkness seemed to stick to him like a comfortable blanket that hid him from all prying eyes. Damn, we could have totally ordered him to scout Kyoto for us, couldn't we? No sense in complaining now that we were already half-way to our target, but still, what a wasted opportunity. "Just how many of these are left?!"
I glanced at the shouting Glascheit. While I opted to use my Black Keys, Sven relied mostly on his phantom claws and stake, which was a problem since the saliva was a bitch to clean off. And while his gloves– A pair of Mystic Code specifically created to aid him in combat was getting rid of the acid, apparently their saliva and… Other harmless, if somewhat disgusting bodily substances weren't enough to trigger their effects. That led to where we were now, with me resting against the wall, watching in amusement as the Glascheit tried to fling the saliva and mucus away.
"Alright, that's enough, we need to move." I finally spoke up, this had gone on long enough. The longer we waited, the more time Regul had to prepare for our battle. Sven growled. "Motherfucker, just let me get this shit off me first!" I stared at him in disbelief. He scowled back. "What?!" Then, as though realizing what he just said, Sven clasped his hands on his mouth. "I- I just said 'motherfucker'. But, but I don't use that kind of words! I don't…" He slowly cracked his neck at me with a murderous expression.
"You! This is your fault! I have only known you for days and now I'm cursing like a sailor!" I laughed loudly at that, falling backwards as I clutched my stomach. "Congrats, Sven. Your first ever real curse word, this is a cause for celebration! I'll get you a cake when we get out." Sven jumped at me, claws closing in on my neck as I teasingly slipped away. This went on for a couple more minutes, before I told him to stop and that we really needed to move from our current location. He was silent after that, but then… "Hey, if I di–"
I immediately interrupted him with a snarl. "Don't. Just don't. I don't want you raising any flag, m'kay? We're both getting out of this mess alive, then we will go get ice cream and chill for a few days, we can watch Rocky or something. Understood?" Sven nodded, releasing an annoyed huff, but the slight smile on him told me all I needed to know. I brought up my fist, gesturing for him to bump his against mine. He obliged. "What the bloody Hell is Rocky? You know what, nevermind, you're right, we're going to kill the Apostle, then go on a few days vacation… I don't know about ice cream though, isn't it almost winter?"
Damned heretic, didn't he know ice cream was a viable comfort food regardless of season?
…
My Keys stabbed deep into the jaws of the bulky monstrosity as I slammed the butt of my reinforced axe on its bony head. These creatures were reminiscent of those 'bodybuilders' who injected their bodies with synthol. They were disgustingly gigantic and had next to no semblance of symmetry, just mass upon mass of visible veins and ballooned muscles covered under spiky-sharp bone plating. They were cumbersome, not too slow when charging at their targets, but their swings and punches were rather reminiscent of infants squabbling.
Frankly, they weren't much of a threat, just incredibly irritating and hard to kill. "Oh for fuck's sake, how many of these are left?!"
"Less talking, more acting Leo!" Sven shouted back. If I was having troubles putting these creatures down permanently, then for Sven, they were like impenetrable objects. His fighting style relied too much on overwhelming the enemies with speed, aggression and pure instinct, which led to him struggling when he was met with an obstacle his offense couldn't break. This was made worse by the fact that he had had to replace his claws multiple times now. Turned out, my Black Keys were still sharper and more durable than Sven's Magical Casing.
Without me, Sven probably would have been forced to retreat a long time ago from over-exertion. Luckily, I was there, and while [Sword God Style] wasn't made to combat this type of enemies, I was still able to dance around them and attack their weak points– The small bits of exposed flesh and joints that weren't protected beneath their yellowish bone armors.
My leg lashed at the immobile Goon, snapping its mouth open as I shoved an ignited molotov cocktail down its throat and shoved it into its brethrens. Exposed to the chemicals in its stomach, my makeshift-flammable bomb exploded as I rolled away, throwing flaming bodily substances on the other Goons nearby. I didn't get to rest, as the five Goons that weren't currently on fire began their assault. With Sven on the retreat, their target changed to me instead as they swung their meaty arms at my head. I ducked, shoving my blade in one of the creature's Achilles tendons, leaving it to stumble and fall flat on its face.
I hurriedly shook the blood off my blade and approached the next one, the Goon who had somehow fallen on its back was still flailing about, struggling to get its clumsy form on its feet. I didn't let the creature get up, my blades slashing at its neck, severing its cervical spine. That's two taken down, only three more to go. I made quick work of them, piercing one in its kneecap, landing a devastating sucker-punch that broke the other's bone helmet, leaving it dazed, a weakness that Sven capitalized on as he sent a roundhouse kick at its now exposed brain.
The last one had both its knees broken by Sven and as it roared with murder in its heart, my blade shot at the roof of its mouth, killing it instantly. "That's… Haahaaa– That's the last of them, I think?"
I turned at the small hills of corpses that surrounded us, toxic bodily fluids still pouring relentlessly from their wounds, some even had worms– Worms that burst out of their flesh and soon dug back into the warm vessels that were their homes. I cringed at the sight, it was one thing to see it on TV or videogames, it was another entirely to witness such a gruesome sight in person. The boils on their bodies made my skin crawl with invisible insects as I pinched my nose. I swore, these things smelled worse than an active sewer tunnel.
"That's the last of them." Sven confirmed, then looked at me. "I will pile them up for us to burn, you rest for a bit. Can't have you exhausted for our next encounter."
I gave him a thumb-up, slumping against a relatively clean spot on the concrete wall. Hopefully, my next Mission wouldn't require us to enter the sewer, I was growing increasingly tired of this dreary atmosphere, the overwhelming stench of feces and the claustrophobic location. No wonder gamers would complain about sewer levels time and time again, it was uninspired, boring and was a maze to navigate. I had lost count of the number of times we had gotten lost, or hit dead ends. It was frustrating, and even the once adrenaline-filled violence was losing its luster, slowly but surely becoming like a sort of a chore to finish.
"I can't wait to leave this fucking place…" I took out the handkerchief I kept in my pocket. Black Keys were a mass-produced Scriptural Weapons designed to battle Apostles and creatures with a particular weakness against the Holy Element. Most of them were of poor quality, made to break after a few times in combat. While mine was better forged with damascus steel as its base, and the edges were even coated in specially processed diamond to increase their sharpness, if I didn't take care of them properly and regularly, the blades would still break, or become far too brittle to hold up in combat.
And after all those fights, especially against those bone-plated Goons, I could feel the edges starting to dull, there were even small, almost unnoticeable chips along their length. I bet you didn't expect equipment maintenance to have such an important role, didn't you? Made sense, if I remembered correctly, Knights of the olden days would carry maintenance kits with them to combat to perform on their weapons after every battle. The Samurais were even more religious with their Katana, often preserving them with a specific kind of oil and clean cloth.
Well, I meant mundane Knights and Samurais, not the legendary ones with weapons forged by Gods, Supernatural Blacksmiths, or enchanted by Fae Folks, Wizards or whoever. Seriously, what I wouldn't do to have one of those, it would make my life so much easier… Maybe I could nag Gilgamesh for one? Yeah no, she would probably skewer my ass with ten different kinds of weapons or something along those lines. She seemed to like me well enough, but I wouldn't push the Golden Queen, that way had only to pain and sufferings. "You done, Leo?"
I nodded, hastily putting the maintenance kit back in my pocket. "Yeah, we can leave now." Thank Gods we were near, or at least I thought so, since Sven could now differentiate the Apostle's scent from his twisted creations. I sighed loudly, after hours navigating these maze-like tunnels, we were finally close to our target. I was definitely going to bash his face in when I got to him. My blades gleamed menacingly under the buzzing green light, my face set in an expression that promised violence.
…
"So, here we are."
"Indeed."
"That was kind of anti-climatic, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, but you won't see me complaining. Those creatures have grown less menacing, and more bothersome after the first four waves." Sven shrugged as we stood, eyes trained on the rusted, unassuming iron door before us. After the seventh wave of enemies, the Apostle seemed to have given up on sending them in droves at us, so our way here was fairly peaceful, beside the occasional stragglers we encountered. Hours of trudging through corpses, blood and almost every other kinds of bodily fluids– Some of which I previously didn't even know existed, and then there was the sewer water and dried up feces, but here we were at last.
"Are you ready for this, Leo?" I shook my head gently as I took in a deep breath. First boss was supposed to be easy, right? But this wasn't a Game, I could really die here with no one but Rin to mourn my sacrifice. "To be honest? No, not really…" I paused to look at the updated Quest. "But let's put an end to this whole mess anyways."
[Chain Quest: An Enforcer's Rite of Passage]
Difficulty: Impossible
Ooh-wee! You have reached the first boss already?! Good on you, Gamer! The next fight will decide if you have what it takes to rise above all in this Universe! Though, do be careful, lest you become the laughingstock for your senpais. It's not often we have Gamers who lose their lives to the first boss, but it does happen occasionally. Don't be that guy, 'kay?
[Reward: Exp, Title, Two Random Skills, Clock Tower's Scholarship]
[Failure: Death or Enslavement]
With that, we pushed the door open. It was surprisingly heavy, mostly due to the rust stuck on its hinges after years of neglect, and partly because of the material it was made of– Say what you wanted about Fujiwara Corporation's unethical practices, but they took their projects very seriously. I couldn't even imagine the amount of money they must have sunk into this system of sewage tunnels if every door had the same materials as this one. "I- I… I don't know what I was expecting, but this definitely wasn't it." Sven whispered to himself as we scanned the room.
It was… Impressive to say the least. The walls had been scrubbed and painted squeaky white, glass tanks almost twice the size of an adult lined the walls, the red carpet leading up to another room and the false ceiling seemed recently clean. It was all very symmetrical, beautifully so in fact. Had it not been for the horrible Lovecraftian creatures that surely floated within those tanks, I'd have thought we were in the wrong location. Like damn, Regul's place was so much cleaner than mine! "Huh? Either Regul has OCD, or the creatures are horrifyingly efficient workers." Given what we had seen of the flesh puppets, I'd bet good money it was the first.
While I was in my daze, Sven had approached one of the tanks, he wiped away the condensation to reveal a Stalker– The four-armed bio-puppet with a cancerous orb of acid in its chest, the same one that had jumped on him earlier. Yes, I named these things, it was getting tiresome calling them 'creatures' or 'puppets', and it made things easier for us when we spotted them and wanted to alert each other. Sven stepped back, his face displayed a clear distaste for the ugly creature. Sven wasn't exactly a fan of the creature. It latching on him aside, apparently, he had a severe case of arachnophobia, and the creature's multitude of arms and eyes wasn't a selling point for him.
"I hate these things." In all fairness, I hated the Stalkers too. Not because they reminded me of our beloved, eight-legged and hairy 'friends', but because they could camouflage themselves, spit out acidic balls and were overall just unpleasant to look at. "Well, you know what to do."
Sven reached for his molotov cocktails as I did mine, and just as we were about to throw them, a loud, blaring sounds flashed to life. I held my ears, glaring at the culprit, a speaker that was installed at the corner of the room. "Hello, friends from afar. As I'm sure you already know, I'm Regul Black, current and only heir to House Black, the Apostle you two have been trying so hard to find…" I raised an eyebrow at that, clicking my tongue in irritation. "Nah, not really, we spent like a day at most to find your location, it was quite obvious if you know where to look at, the cops in this City are just lazy idiots."
…
*CRICKET*
…
"I- I see. I'll pick a better place next time?" Regul stammered embarrassedly over the speaker.
"It's not even that, you just picked the wrong hunting grounds. We were able to pinpoint your general location from it, after that it's just a matter of common sense and predictions. Not that you need the advice anyways, since you will be dead soon." I shrugged tauntingly, my demeanor was that of a disappointed parents who had caught their children doing something incredibly stupid. I wasn't sure if he could see us, but if he could, this would undoubtedly infuriate him.
This wasn't just pointless banters though…
Most people didn't know when facing someone, there were two different wars you must participate in, the skill-based, physical battle was a given, but the second mental war was also important. It's something that had been hammered in my head after nearly a decade playing MOBA Games. As long as I could shake his will and sway his emotions, Regul would commit mistakes that he otherwise wouldn't, which ultimately would give us an undeniable edge on him later on. "… You are taunting me. You're actually taunting me. You know you will pay for that, right? Since you two are talented children, I wanted to give you a choice:
To give up this fight and live, or continue with your foolishness and die. Now I'm going to have to kill you." I gestured for Sven to get his cocktails, while I talked with the Apostle whose voice had seemingly lost all trace of emotions. He was pissed– Good. "Die? We have made quick work of your little army, slaughtered everything you have sent our way. What can you do against us?" I chuckled as I pointed my Keys at the tank next to me and stabbed. I did not bat an eye at the screams of pure agony the creature let out, instead opted to look directly at the speaker.
"There's no need for negotiation, no need for choices… We've both made up our minds, you're going to die, Regul. You will pay for all the lives you took, for the other Enforcers who were killed in that explosion, and I promise I'm going to relish in your demise." With that, I cracked my neck, pulled out my Keys now that the creature was silent– Dead most likely, and grabbed my own cocktails using both hands. I showed off the makeshift explosives to the speaker, the smile on my face devious and smug as I threw them at the tanks. The resulting flame, accompanied the incessant roars of the dying puppets were hauntingly atmospheric.
'How fitting.'
…
"You little shits…" Regul clenched his teeth, his jutting fangs piercing his lower lip as he shook in anger, watching his creations burn to crisp. Sure, they were failed experiments, but they were his. Their lives should be decided by him and him alone. "I'm not going to kill you, I'm going to make you into my new puppet, then I will have you squeeze the life out of your little friend over there!" He shouted, slamming down on the release button. Alarm flared to life as the surviving tanks shattered, setting his creations loose on the pair.
The little shit wanted to die, so be it. To be fair, he never intended to spare them in the first place. His intention was to buy time so model A-001, or Adversary as he had lovingly named it, could reach its full potential. Regul observed the battle raging outside through the mirror connected to the Bounded Field outside his main room. These children were good, better than he had previously imagined. The younger was precise with his attacks with little wasted movements. Each strike he made was calculated to give momentum to the one after.
The older was less impressive, but still very skilled. His actions were that of a humanoid beast, instinctual and raw as he bounced from place to place, his claws slashing at his creations' less protected spots, as expected of a Glascheit. They made for decent partners, even in his rage, Regul couldn't deny that fact. A shame they would soon die, their bodies used as new materials to fuel his research. Regul stood, looking back at Adversary, the creature was hunching over, hungrily shoving its inferior brethrens into its gaping maws.
On its back was a cancerous tumor, constantly leaking out black tars that seemed to melt everything it touched, its arms were large and lengthy, forcing it to stand on all four like an ape. Its head, neck were covered with bone plating, while its chest had false ribs poking out, forming a protective barrier around its abdomen. Any of its exposed parts were filled with ballooned muscles and skin that hung loosely on its form. Its legs were less humanoid, more beast-like as it stood on the balls of its feet. Instead of bone pads that would have hindered its movements, the creature had several different bone spikes that hid its joints.
Some might say the creature was grotesque, but to Regul's eyes, it was absolutely perfect.
He had poured all his resources to make the creature. All that money, materials, they were worth it. Taking in design flaws from previous, less successful models, Regul had upgraded the creature to completely dwarf its brethrens in almost every way. It was stronger than G-099(Goon), faster than S-176(Stalker), more aggressive than the I-012, capable of wielding weapons like the model P-032 and almost as smart as Z-039(Primrose). Unfortunately, he couldn't find a way for S-176's camouflage to work on it in that short a time, but given its size, such an ability would have been wasted anyways.
While it couldn't spit out acidic, disease-ridden balls of projectiles, the black tars under its flesh– Created from nearly five dozens different kinds of viral infections, even some STDs he had collected from his former captives, were more than enough. The tar was heavy and had a consistency similar to that of porridge, replacing its need for a spitting attack.
But those weren't his greatest achievement. Despite its multi-cellular nature, the creature was created entirely from viruses and diseases, which gave it fearsome regenerative ability and adaptability. Although there were some weaknesses that it simply couldn't adapt to in a short period as it was made from curses and diseases, like as fire, the Holy Element and such, Regul believed with time, it could be immune to everything, growing increasingly stronger the more it ate and aged. "Soon, my dearest creation. Soon, you will be fed flesh of the living, beginning with those little shits... Then none shall ever attempt to take anything from us again."
For the first time in his life, Regul Black allowed his emotion to take over as he howled with laughter.
