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78. One Wrong Move
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 16:27:49 +0000 UTCThe screeches of rage and agony of the qiraji were music to my ears as I held him high, his torso impaled on my claw was a fountain of dark green hemolymph.
Then I threw him against the cave wall with my full strength, and he was flung with such speed that the air whipped.
The motion itself crushed a silithid too close to me, its body a mess of chitin and rippling flesh, as was the insectoid warrior once he impacted the wall.
He exploded, splattering like a bug on a wind… visor, shield? Ah, whatever. He was a pile of gore with still twitching limbs, and I had plenty more to do.
And it wasn't only killing or healing, even if I was doing that right now. My vines snapped toward an ogre, and grabbed his upper and lower halves to glue them back together.
And then he went with a brief shocked expression before returning in the frenzied melee to get killed for good this time. Probably. I couldn't outheal stupidity, and even then, it was a warzone.
I didn't do miracles; the idiot had been lucky to be nearby.
I saved those who were in range, nothing more, nothing less.
It was the same for my students. We didn't come to be battle healers anyway, even if we excelled at it even here. Making the tidal wave of chittering arthropods clash against an undying wall of flesh and blade.
Otherwise, it was an escort of the treants carrying vitae crystals, which were activated and doing a fine job of protecting the mind against the fifty-or-so-meter-tall resonating crystals facing us at the heart of an equally massive fortress.
And it could be felt.
It was akin to a slight pressure in the center of the brain. Only a particularly perceptive one or adept at any magic would truly sense it, but by the ancestors, it was annoying.
Still better than pain from resonating crystals trying to dig itself in my psyche like serrated white hot metal spikes. Or absolute horror for most as they watched half in a dream with conflicting emotions and utterly powerless as they killed and were killed by their once friends.
It was a violation like none other. What Medivh did remained at the back of my psyche; he wasn't the only one, but he succeeded.
I didn't want to feel that ever again.
That sensation of wrongness, of powerlessness. Only here it would be worse, as for all the dumbass' faults, he was as genuine as can be.
Our creations did a fantastic job against that. But that didn't stop mind rape from being repeatedly attempted, or well, 'simple' mind attack.
That was harder to block.
The vitae crystals messed up precision work, but brutal force couldn't be stopped. And the sharp pain from that suddenly slammed into me was proof enough. I growled, it was a sort of agony unlike few others.
But the bellow that was ripped from my throat wasn't from pain, nor rage of meaningless depth. I was no mad berserker so easily provoked.
But I wasn't kind and prone to escalating reactions.
I was going to maul them and worse. But I didn't rush at them, the exact opposite.
There was no point; they could come to me. Consent was optional.
I anchored myself, my paws digging deep as roots and mycelium exploded forth underground at great speed and force.
Zigzagging cracks formed. Many on their paths stumbled as the bedrock rose and broke apart like thin ice as they tore toward the insolent qiraji prophets.
The battlefield was split in half as right above thorns bloomed forth, ensnaring enemies as they did. This little act caused chaos across both forces, but I was careful, and who met their demise was solidly one-sided.
In tandem, five thousand pairs of wings angrily buzzing zipped from my back, forming five dazzling clouds.
Two flying around me in a protective death spiral, lacerating, biting, envenoming, and stabbing anyone who entered their sphere of influence. This again made chaos bloom, but the same as before was true.
I was precise in my work.
As for the last three swarms, they went straight above, tearing through the delicate wings of qiraji and silithids above while the much larger arthropods learned why their smaller cousins were more successful.
Swarms were either useless or terrifying unless you were beyond the realm of normalcy. A perfectly sealed magical shield or large, deadly area of effect magic or toxin of some kind did the deal.
Both were entirely missing from the qiraji and silithid arsenal, as was the first. They weren't Void abominations; I was sure they didn't wish for that.
It didn't help that vorpal bees were in part designed to kill them en masse.
And that was what they while roots and bones spike exploded from below the group of prophets that had the formidable idea to wish my mind ripped asunder.
They panicked or an equivalent of such, anyway. It was hard to read, and most communication was telepathic and pheromone-based.
Still, it changed nothing. Generals, gladiators, and prophets were the three main fighting castes of qiraji, with each varying body type leading to strengths and weaknesses.
Unluckily for them, those prophets here were of the bulky variety, speed wasn't their forte, and thick carapace was pointless when my sharp thorns and bone spikes targeted the articulation joints with pinpoint accuracy.
I didn't lift them, but I yanked hard, grunting with effort as the ground was ripped apart, sending any that were skewered into the air.
And so the qiraji that thought clever to attack my mind were brought right into the bees orbiting me. At this point, I lost interest as they shredded apart bits by bits from the inside and outside.
I went further into the warzone and let go, truly entering the fight. My four main vines became whipping blades and poisonous spears, shifting interchangeably between forms as I meticulously controlled them.
It was not random chaos when I first grew them. They did not need my entire focus either; the fusion was based on a well-developed foundation.
I didn't grow smarter per se, but I had more room for multitasking. And I had used this unwanted boon to its full extent. I wasn't going to let Groot sacrifice in vain.
On the more direct physical side, it was bites, slaps, slashes, and stabs with an abuse of my bulk and resilience. Healing wasn't forgotten; it was just a lesser concern.
Not that I could do mass revival or major heals. No matter what, this took focus; however, less advanced spells were fine.
Yellow spheres, formed from the homogenization of red and green, periodically appeared around me before being flung outward. And when touching undesired targets, it messed up the healing spells.
It was scarcely deadly, but by the Twin Bears, any that tried to steal my healing spells in for a brutally grotesque wake-up call.
Even for those horrid social bugs, there were patterns in their form; cancerous growths weren't among them.
I became the main target of the qiraji and their slaves. And I welcomed it, not that I was stationary or made the rookie mistake of letting myself be separated.
It was true I overextended, nearly escaping the range of the Life and Nature crystals more than once. Turning into a bloodwing bat on multiple occasions to increase my kill counts and rapidly relocate.
Be that as it may, I couldn't easily turn into a puppet. Replicating the effect of the crystals within me was relatively simple.
It, however, wasn't as stable or constant. In a fight that wasn't obtainable and a single crack was all the Old God needed, beyond that, I was, if not a furbolg, a creature of nature.
The general effect of a resonating crystal wouldn't have sufficed even then to dominate me; the amount of mana and willpower was equally important to ward off mind control.
But again, this type of thing was profoundly insidious, so as much as I wished to delve deeper, I didn't. Frustration of instincts be damned.
Still, it worked out. I wasn't the only factor, nor were my students or the Wild members here.
The Horde proved worthy of the Council's fear with bullets, explosives, vehicles ranging from flying machines to mechas, and an iron mentality.
Varok's tactics–mostly, he had the right to a chunk of the credit, not all–only pushed this further.
The siege was progressing well—quite an understatement.
We were pushing further and deeper, the living walls spilled brilliant hemolymph as they were painted with corpses or destroyed under a rain of bullets.
Rockets weren't used as freely as we were underground, but the result was assured when fired. They were used too much for comfort, regardless.
However, none of this was my primary focus; testing the vitae crystals by a baptism of blood and fire was.
Regardless, the battle continued, and our enemies were not weak or easily pushed, despite what it looked like.
This was no easy battle; that they held their ground even with such disadvantages was in its own humbling.
They were by the several thousands, an endless tide from every tunnel working in perfect synchronization. This puts a lot of things into perspective.
I had never fought the qiraji and silithids to any extent like today, which is ironic, as I was the foremost expert on them. Few were sent to our laboratories alive, even fewer so in any fighting shape.
Tests were done beyond the crystals with a quicker-developing strain of asphyxium and toxins specifically designed to target their biology.
These would make fascinating discussions later, as winning didn't mean victory. Still, I listened as usual after any battle; I did my job as a healer.
"The crystal number three integrity is at risk with fault lines leaking power. Number five had similar signs of stress, the first's tip had broken off from a shockwave-" Milra enunciated, the female night elf pursing her lips in irritation as if it was her personal failure.
I suppose it wasn't wrong since she was one of the carvers, given she had been a jewelcrafter and still was, but the blame was on me, too.
"They are too fragile yet…" I hummed after she finished, my paw hovering above an ogre as I reconnected her third and fourth vertebra, "The seed of the gem for those were red dragon diamontites, perhaps a composite would work better. We had power, but if they're too fragile…"
She ended it for me, clutching her knuckle to the point they turned white, "...worthless…"
"I wouldn't go this far, they worked well, but even with repair possible, this certainly makes them as they are… complicated to use in case of attrition." I let out softly, switching to another patient, the ogre essentially running away, making me snort.
As usual, I took care of the Wild first, well, the critical ones, the ogre was among the first of the Horde I treated. And no one would tell me otherwise without significant consequences.
Not that anyone seemed willing to do. I refreshed memories and showed that the Third War wasn't full of exaggerations.
My ears suddenly snapped to attention, and I stood to my full height, dwarfing anyone and everyone.
"Teache-?!" Milra half asked, half screamed as I brusquely pushed her away instant before stalactites slammed where she once was, impaling my forearm in the process.
"MOVE! Fuck!" I bellowed more shock than pain as bark was already tearing off the stone of my body, eyes wide, I continued, "CAVE COLLAPSE! ORGANIZE AND FOLLOW PROTOCOL!"
If only this were that easy. It happened so fucking fast.
After the initial rockfall, the ground fractured as it shook, and the earth boomed with raw power, which made me stumble and caused people and objects to be thrown like ragdolls.
The ceiling was breaking apart, dust forming storming clouds as stones heavier than I were raining by the hundreds and thousands, more both lighter and heavier.
Flight was rendered obsolete and dangerous to the extreme; only kobolds would be able to, and even they had to be masterful.
Then it was the ground, like a hungry maw, that split open, giving way to an abyss. From then on, it worsened. I felt myself go up and then flip as my side slipped into the cavernous canyon.
I held my ground, claws dug deep and eyes wary, first searching for my students and finding relief as they were all on the other side, barring Tur Ragepaw.
I moved fast and uncaring of anyone in the Horde in my way. I reached him and did a quick diagnosis that both reassured me and made me feel genuine dread.
My heart hammered in my chest as I failed to spot him until I did, the entire right side of his torso crushed under a massive stone. And he had a massive brain hemorrhage.
Tur was alive, barely. Stones kept falling and the ground breaking, but my body formed a shell around us.
Screams and explosions made speech useless, and the smell of blood, gunpowder, and dust thickened to the point that I only smelled that.
I did not waste time lifting the object, crushing him. I amputated the crushed part, taking out a lung, half his liver, left arm, and everything else from here while applying emergency healing to his brain.
It wouldn't suffice, but I couldn't do more right here and then. It had to suffice.
I was already moving before that, with vines carefully cradling him under my neck like a basket. I jumped over the void. The distance was significant, but nothing I couldn't cross.
And I did only for a boulder to slam on my lower back halfway through, my bark broke, and bones dislocated with muscles and tendons tearing. Still, it only pissed me off, and my roots solidly hooked me to the cliff.
The climb was hasty, and the wound healed even faster as each rumble fought to make me fall through the tremor, loose stones, or constant rockfall.
I only heard the booming drum of my heart in my ears as I scaled the last meters. As I hoisted myself up, my body expanded like a tapestry of pulsating life through vines, roots, muscles, and bones.
At the last moment, my heart sank as the sensation of falling again came back with a vengeance. I didn't think, I acted out of pure instinct.
I threw my student as far as I could, just as the cliff betrayed me and the wind whipped past me. Gravity took its hold immediately.
I was falling.
I was pissed.
I was unable to do anything about either, but endured.
And I did as darkness swallowed me for this very long free fall.
Comments
Petrox
You poked the bear, The bear will poke C'thun's big eye
Mika Willems
I hear doom guy music paying near the end. Rip & tear, TILL IT IS DONE.
