Octophobia
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Spire's Spite - Arc 2 - Chapter 33
🕑 Added 2024-08-29 03:00:03 +0000 UTCVaa'gur's grin of sadistic elation was replaced with a grimace of savage fury. Fritz's slid back and out of his opponent's reach, his shadowy body solidifying after a heartbeat. He could feel his newly acquired Passive take its due from his Dusksong mana.
Three minutes until it refreshes, better flee to the others.
The raider's face scrunched, and he retched, spitting as the stench of the ghost potion overwhelmed his senses for a moment. The foul concoction within the, now shattered, flask had soaked into his hair, beard and armour. Vaa'gur retreated as Fritz took the opening with a swift series of stabs and slashes. Even with momentary distraction the raider was able to dodge most of the strikes, though some did cut bright lines of red across his arms and ribs. Fritz then wove in a Lethargy as he pushed the man backwards with his flitting blade.
The raider turned his shoulders and brought his tattooed arm to the forefront. It suddenly lit with sickening green light, forcing Fritz to face away. Vaa'gur hissed as he stepped on another of the poisoned caltrops littered around the clearing. With a yell, he leapt backwards and into the undergrowth, disappearing into a swirl of red and gold and taking on the colours of the jungle.
The raider likely thought himself invisible and untouchable. There were, however, a couple of small problems to the raider's disappearing act. First, Fritz had seen it before. And second, tiny specs of silver glittered off his silhouette as he slowly stalked around.
Fritz silently thanked Naomi, this hadn't been the intended use of the potion, but it more than exceeded his expectations and perfectly filled a need in his plan. He pretended not to notice his stalker and paced backward cautiously while yelling out.
"Come out knave! Stop hiding! You squid-fiddling, fish-fondling, fainthearted fool. Fight me like a man!"
Fritz wanted nothing of the sort, of course, and the string of insults were a prepared code that signalled to his waiting crew that the potion had worked to make Vaa'gur visible. Fritz thought he could hear the bending of a bow and gulped. He had gambled that the raider wouldn't use his arrows on first sight. Mainly due to thinking the vicious beast would want to kill him up close, so he could revel in his bloody, painful death. But it seemed now the raider just wanted him gone and an arrow to the heart was the best way to do it.
Not taking any chances, Fritz activated the last cast of his barrier ring and continued retreating. He was moving towards the cave, passing by a large tree behind which Bert and George lurked. They were ready to spring forward and meet the raider with punches, kicks and a six-foot-tall copper greatsword should he come too close.
The arrow was loosed and Fritz only had a moment to dodge. He was too slow and his barrier was struck, dissipating with a hum as the sticky, venom-soaked arrowhead bounced off and fell to the dirt. There was a blur in the jungle's foliage and a second arrow was drawn and nocked in an instant, this one Fritz escaped with a desperate dive behind a mossy log. He ducked his head, put his back to the wood and listened for the snap of a string. He knew he had to stall until his new Ability, Umbral Phase, refreshed before he could take the raider on with any confidence.
There was a yell and the shriek of Sever being activated as Vaa'gur's outline circled into view, right beside the tree George was behind. The camouflage fell away and the raider raised his sturdy bow between him and the swift arc of the shining blade. For a moment it looked like the bow was about to be sliced in two, when suddenly its wood rippled and darkened as if it were now made of black metal. The sword clanged against the bow, sparking and screaming as they repelled each other, forcing their wielders backwards.
Bert flanked the stumbling raider, slamming into him with that rush Ability, both crashing into a tree with a thud that rattled the branches overhead. He held him there, trapping the raider against the trunk. The bow fell from Vaa'gur's grip and his other hand stabbed down, sinking his darkly-dripping dagger into the meat between Bert's shoulder and neck. Black veins spread rapidly, pulsing thickly as venom crawled beneath his skin. Bert cried out and gripped Vaa'gur's face, spraying acid on him at point blank.
There was a sizzle and a bellow, a Treasure activated and a slippery sheen of what looked like water diluted and washed away the Corrosive Spray before it could melt the raider's face. The strange sheen let Vaa'gur slip out of the tight grip and slide away, leaving his dagger buried in Bert's flesh. George's shining greatsword swung suddenly into his escape path, but the raider ducked and the Sever cut into bark and wood instead.
Vaa'gur raked at the armoured man with venom-encrusted nails but found no purchase on the iron-hard surface. Quick as a viper, he pulled a paper packet out from a pocket, tore it, and blew its powdered contents into the closed visor.
George screamed and clawed at his helmet, staggering back and abandoning his sword, lodged as it was in the thick of the tree. The raider kicked him away and George tumbled to the ground hard. Bert blurred forward again and Vaa'gur spun, meeting the charge with a throwing dagger, much like the ones Fritz had. It sank into Bert's ribs and made him stumble before he collided with the raider with all the force of a rushing bull, sending them both tumbling.
Bert landed on top, but was rolled over fiercely by the other man's greater strength. Vaa'gur was panting heavily now, his breath coming in great heaves. Bert seized his leg and yelled, "Got him!"
Lauren stepped out from her hiding place and let loose a great torrent of flame from her lips. It roared and the fire washed over the raider's back. The watery skein appeared again, protecting him from the worst of the clinging flame, allowing him break free and stand again. The fire cut out, and Vaa'gur turned his vicious gaze to her. Only for Lauren to breathe more fire over him. Bert kicked at his leg, bringing him down, again, to the ground. Engulfed by an outpouring of flame the raider scrambled and screamed.
In his flailing his hand seized upon a stone the size of a lime, and he flung it with unerring accuracy, right at Lauren's head. With a crack and a thud she fell, and the stream of fire ceased with her toppling. Vaa'gur rolled, and even as he still burned with flames dancing over his body, he pulled out a vial and downed its contents. Fritz was up and moving, being the last one still standing he charged towards the raider. He passed by George, who lay prone and shaking violently.
Fritz stopped, hesitated, the flames were being steadily smothered by the raider's rolling, and he would lose his chance to slay him if he lingered. But George was in serious peril, he could see it in those jerky movements and hear it in the horrible wheezing. Dusksong was discordant within, wanting him to both slay his foe and fulfil his duty as George's lord. It fought and he fought it.
Duty won over malice, compassion over cruelty, because Fritz willed it. He ran to George's side and lifted his visor open. He saw the blistered, bruised face and mouth beneath the iron and saw those terrified yellow eyes. Without another thought, he pressed the last healing potion to bleeding lips. Fritz had no more time to spare the man so he turned to Vaa'gur who was getting to his feet, the fire finally smothered.
His black leather armour smoked and steamed, ash flaked off its surface, it was a sorry sight but it held. An even sorrier sight, however, was the raider's melted face and skin. His left cheek was a patchwork of white and pink scars, his beard and hair on that side burnt away. Vaa'gur glared, hatred and agony warred on his twisted features. All sign of fear or self-preservation was gone, abandoned to madness.
"Die!" He shrieked, pulling free two more long knives that had been strapped to his belt.
Fritz looked to Bert, and saw him unconscious, and yet still clutching at the leaden dagger inside him. Then he searched for Cal, the last of the team meant to strike since Rosie was too sick to fight without being a burden. He saw nobody. He cursed the man. Another Toby or Jane, another cowardly traitor.
Fritz hid his dismay. "No, I shall not heed thee, beast," he cried, standing straight and levelling Quicksilver at his foe. "Perish as the weak, just as your Commands decree."
The raider twitched as the words landed, then he winced and screamed furiously. He lunged forward with his two blades, weaving a slashing, slicing storm. While Vaa'gur was a mess, burned and beaten, he was still strong, still fast and still deadly. Fritz's reach advantage meant nothing against the raider's own in-close all-out assault.
In fact many of his advantages meant little against this foe, he had to discard his ideas of using his Illusory Shadow and Stone Pit. Both small trickeries would be less than useless against an enemy with as many Sense Abilities as this raider likely had. Fritz had to find his victory elsewhere, in his skill as a swordsman and his savvy as a strategist. He gritted his teeth and took up his guarded stance, Quicksilver in one hand and his bone dagger in the other.
He met the man's savage charge with both blades. They clashed, sword to dagger, and bone to steel. Droplets of sticky, dark venom flicked off the raiders weapons in the first flurries, splattering skin and leather. It itched where it landed, and unbalanced by the man's Strength, Fritz had to take a step back in a cautious fighting retreat.
Vaa'gur's stance and strikes weren't as disciplined or precise as Fritz's, not in his current suffering state. But when the Attribute difference was so vast it didn't matter. Quicksilver quickly became more a shield than a sword and it took all of Fritz's skill to match even this weakened, exhausted and whittled-down foe.
It wasn't enough, even while parrying with both his dagger and sword, and only risking the most sure of counterattacks, he still took an envenomed cut here and there along his forearms. He narrowed his focus and slowly acclimated to his foe's swift, slippery style. Fritz concentrated fully on defence, forcing his opponent to exert more effort into his attacks than he himself put into his deflections.
Their clashes clanged and clattered. A parry turned into a swift stab easily dodged or beat away. A dagger's tip aimed for Fritz's heart only to be evaded with a last-second adjustment of his stance and a single step for space. A savage kick, thudding into Fritz's shin. Followed by a thrust of steel only narrowly deflected and responded to with a swift slash of Quicksilver. On and on they fought. For what seemed like hours though was more likely only a minute.
Fritz had to constantly retreat to keep the distance between them, but Vaa'gur came on relentlessly. He matched the man, drained as he was, his sword arm shaking from opposing the raider's far greater strength over and over. He put every ounce of effort into enduring, watching for an opening that would have to manifest, need to appear, or it would all be for nought.
In only another three clashes, Fritz was vindicated. The raider's strikes steadily slowed. Finally, Lethargy, exertion, poison and wounds were taking hold, rendering Vaa'gur's legs sluggish while his arms trembled ever so slightly. The eyes, that were so intent, so focused and furious, had taken on a dullness, a deep exhaustion. And now glanced around, glinting with fear and searching for an escape. Seemingly sensing the tide had turned out of his favour, and seeing as his battered prey still stood and still smirked. Vaa'gur disappeared again in a shroud of shifting colour.
Fritz growled, they were so close to slaying him and now the bastard was going to flee? After all that fighting, all their suffering, the monster would escape? Just like that? He listened for footsteps and scanned for silver flecks. Nothing. The bastard had fled.
He lowered Quicksilver to still his arm's aching tremors and he yelled at the coward's invisible back.
"Krakosi cur! Craven scum!"
Only for his accusation to be suddenly proven wrong.
Fritz was struck behind the knees by a blurry kick and he was swept off his feet and onto his back. Vaa'gur leapt onto him, pinning Fritz's arms with his legs and holding his two daggers high and roaring, laughing in triumph.
"Got you, got you, got yoooooou!"
It hadn't yet been three minutes, Umbral Phase was still unusable, needing at least another nine seconds to refresh. Fritz had failed, his team either unconscious or fleeing and he was going to die in agony. He could see it all in those insane black eyes. Dread suffocated him and he despaired.
A stone the size of a man's torso soared through the air as if thrown by a giant. It whooshed over Vaa'gur's shoulders, only just ducked under and missing his scalded scalp by a hair. Both men turned their heads in the direction it came from to see a terrified, pale Cal, Heave-ing up a head-sized stone from the rocky dirt and preparing to throw it, hefting it as if it were light as a leather ball. Fritz's faint, flickering hope rekindled when he saw that mopey idiot still fighting.
Another of the stones flew at Vaa'gur, and with a slippery shrug, he dodged out of the way while keeping Fritz stuck and struggling under his body. Cal ducked down and seized another stone, but Vaa'gur wouldn't let him throw again. He hurled a dagger at the man's skinny leg. It whistled through the air as it spun, which stopped when it stuck in his thigh.
Cal screamed and fell, dropping the stone on his other foot.
Vaa'gur turned his mad gaze to Fritz still caught beneath him. He gripped his remaining dagger in both hands and plunged it down towards Fritz's heart. It was over. Or was it? While Cal's attacks hadn't done any damage, they had done something even better. They had bought time. Time enough for Umbral Phase to refresh.
The dagger slipped straight through Fritz's shifting, shadowy form and stabbed into the dirt below him. In the moment the Ability lasted Fritz was free from all physical bonds or barriers and passed right through the raider. He was on his feet and levelling his insubstantial, wisping blade at the man's back, waiting for the odd feeling of weightlessness to end so he could strike.
Vaa'gur spun, his dagger coming up to parry. But it was too late for him. Quicksilver was solid, swift and razor-sharp, and Fritz thrust his blade into the man's throat. Blood poured from the rent he wrought, but Fritz didn't stop with just one stab. He placed another tearing thrust into the man's chest, piercing, shredding a lung for good measure. The vile raider stared up at him with numb disbelief and blood gurgled from his mouth as he tried to speak.
Maybe a too-late plea for mercy or surrender, or maybe an exaltation, knowing what little he did of the Krakosi's foul Commands.
Whatever it was the raider was attempting to say, Fritz didn't want to hear it. He slashed the man's hands that clutched his throat, trying to keep his blood in. Then Fritz started hacking at Vaa'gur. Revenge for all the harm he'd inflicted and the terror he'd put them through. For every great insult then for every small slight, Fritz and Quicksilver tore at the man's flesh.
Then Vaa'gur was dead. A mess of bloody gashes and scored bones, a violent portrait of red and white painted by a baleful blade.
Hot tears ran down Fritz's cheeks. His fury sputtered out, replaced with hollow relief and a bleak detachment. He slumped, falling to his knees in exhaustion, he dropped his blade and it lay by his side as he fell onto his back. Poison crept up his arms in agonising tendrils, it was already pounding painfully throughout his body. His vision darkened, and his ears rang with a dull whine.
Cal crawled over to where Fritz panted, sweat and wept.
"You got him," Cal said.
"You helped."
"I did?"
"You did. Thank you," Fritz reassured. "Alas, this seems to be the end for me. The venom, you see..."
Fritz was somewhat surprised to see tears in Cal's grey eyes.
"Don't die," He pleaded softly, grasping one of Fritz's sweaty, burning hands. All traces of Cal's resentment and anger replaced with aching ripples of regret.
Inwardly Fritz smirked.
"Take... care... of... the... team," he wheezed out dramatically.
"Don't talk like that," Cal said.
Fritz smiled sadly and coughed, closing his eyes and falling limp.
Dusksong chimed cheerily.
Dark grasped him and he felt no more.
---
George awoke, he was lying down in his armour, his visor open to the humid air. Had he somehow fallen asleep in his uncomfortable iron plate and overwhelming heat?
No, that wasn't it. They were waiting in ambush, and then the raider appeared, and they fought. He had missed with his Sever. And he inhaled some kind of powder. That's right. He got hit by the poisonous dust.
George's hand went to his throat from the vivid memory of it. His lungs burning then cramping so tight he couldn't breathe. They felt better now, relaxed if still raw. His lungs still ached. They were uncomfortably warm and slightly itchy, but with a grunt he sat up and searched the battlefield. It seemed that he was too late to help, he had been unconscious for too long and the fight had been over for minutes.
Bert was gripping the handle of the raider's leaden dagger, struggling to pull it free with a shaking arm. Lauren lay on top of a fern, a lump swelling just over her brow. Cal was sniffling, wiping at tears and crouching beside Fritz as he lay still.
Help who you can help, leave the dead for last, George told himself as he stood gingerly then trudged over to Bert. The trembling man looked up blearily with those amazing amber eyes.
"Help. Pull it out. Poison," Bert said thickly.
"The bleeding," George protested, not sure if the act of tearing out the dagger would do more harm than good.
"Potent... Blood, Vitality," Bert stated, a shudder running through him. "Be fine. Pull it out."
George hesitated for a moment and Bert frowned, then he obeyed, grabbing the dark ivory handle and using a portion of his Might to pull the dagger free quickly and cleanly.
Bert grunted in pain, but sighed soon afterwards, slumping and twitching as his wound poured dark blood.
"Can you get me a vial of that clearblood venom?" Bert asked, his voice more steady but just as tired. "A drop or two might help clean the wound."
A venom to fight venom, it made sense, so George found and fetched a vial for the man.
"Thanks, check on the others would you?" Bert said. "I'll be along in a moment." He added after pouring a drop of venom on his finger and staring at it then adding another, then another for good measure. Worry constricted George's chest as he watched on.
Bert hissed when he plunged his finger into the bloody hole left by the dagger, but the thick, black blood and protruding veins did seem to lighten in hue.
Bert waved George off. "Go, see to the rest."
He nodded and went next to Lauren. She was breathing, but unresponsive, it seemed she had been struck in the head by something heavy. A lump on her left side of her forehead had steadily grown to the size of an egg. Her skull didn't look shattered and he couldn't see any other injury so he lifted her and moved her next to the last of the injured, or dying. Fritz.
Bert joined the huddle, looking much stronger than he had been. He barely shook now, though he still had an ungainly gait when he had walked over.
"How's Lauren?" He asked.
"Don't know, head wounds can be unpredictable," George said. "Or so I've heard."
Bert nodded seriously. "We'll do what we can. Carry her all the way to the Well if we have to." He stated, easily taking over command of the team in Fritz's unconscious absence.
"George, you hurt?" Bert asked.
"No, I don't remember exactly what happened, but I feel okay," he replied, suppressing a cough.
"Cal, how about you?" Bert said, turning to the next of the team.
"No. Not hurt. I'm fine, but Fritz," Cal gulped. "Fritz said he's dying."
Bert burst into laughter, then shook his head and grinned wide. Obviously, he knew something they didn't about Fritz's words. Was it some kind of inside joke?
Fritz was pale and just as unresponsive as Lauren, but he was still breathing shallowly. The black veins on his cut arms throbbed with his heartbeat, and while they weren't fading they didn't seem to be getting worse. He wondered what that was about. Bert had said something about bones on the second Floor and Fritz seemed to share in that secret. Likely some Treasure, potion or magic they shared. One that helped with poisons seemingly.
He didn't pry, not now, not when there were things to do.
"What's so funny?" Cal said indignantly. "His last words were 'Take care of the team'! Aren't you worried about your friend or moved by his sacrifice?"
That just made Bert laugh harder. Much to Cal's chagrin and George's own confusion.
"Sorry, sorry," Bert said wiping a tear of joy from his eye. "Once you get to know him it'll make sense. But for now, here's some advice. If Fritz has the energy to be dramatic he's likely fine, triply so if he actually says he's dying. You should only really worry when he's being quiet, that means he's hiding something. Something dire. Or something stupid."
Bert shook his friend's shoulder.
Fritz groaned, mumbling, "I'm dead, give me a minute."
"See," Bert grinned. "But we're still missing the last of our team. Cal, can you go get Rosie, it's... safe now," He ordered glancing meaningfully at the mutilated corpse of the raider.
Cal nodded and left to fetch his sister.
"Made a mess of the bastard didn't he? Can't say he deserved better, but it is hard to look at," Bert commented, throwing a series of long fern leaves over the corpse.
George had to agree, he was surprised that the foppish man had inflicted such gruesome violence. It was one thing to do it to a monster, but to a man... the thought made his stomach turn. They decided to move some ways away from the bloody mess, but kept the covered pile within eyesight, lest something disturb the body.
It took some time, about half an hour, but eventually, they were all gathered and all conscious. Though Rosie, Lauren and Fritz were all still shaky and weak, slathering their many small injuries with that healing grease. George himself felt mostly fine, which he had thought something of a wonder until he had found the empty vial of a healing potion not far from where he had been lying. Fritz had fed it to him while he was choking, dying, from the poison. Fritz had saved his life.
He didn't know how to feel about it, or he did, but he didn't want to fall in love with the fascinating man. It always happened in the tales, when the dashing prince saved the plain commoner from deadly peril. Fritz was handsome, he was charming. But underneath all that bravado, something dark and scarred lurked. They'd all seen it when he had snapped, and now again with this mangled corpse. It was cold, cruel and terrible. Such a man was not one to dally with lightly, even if it could be interesting, or wildly fun.
On second thought, he pitied who ever might wind up entangled with Fritz. The man would be no end of trouble. He just knew it. Also he had a feeling his luck would be better tried with someone outside the Climbing team, the conventional wisdom being that romances in Spires tended to get chaotic and complicated.
George's cheeks heated, and he shook his head to ward off his straying thoughts.
I'm on a Climb, I can't be distracted.
He returned to the present and listened to the conversation at hand.
Lauren complained of a terrible headache and some dizziness, while Rosie said it was just more of the same weakness and nausea. Fritz, however, proclaimed his survival a miracle and that they were lucky to see such a thing in their lifetimes. Bert shook his head and chuckled, he obviously thought Fritz was exaggerating. But was he?
They had gone against a foe they had no right to best. But they had won. And though they had been injured, and had much of the Floor to go, they all still survived. George supposed Fritz was right; It was something of a miracle. He hefted his copperchange sword and thought about what the future would bring. What decision he'd make at the sixth Well. Should he really continue with this team? He wiped his sweaty brow and his thoughts were interrupted by Fritz's resonant tones.
"I propose a toast," He declared holding aloft his waterflask. "To triumph and victory against all odds!"
"Here, Here," Bert agreed raising his own water. He was echoed, if less vehemently, by the rest of the team.
George himself found his own throat too raspy and weak to really give voice to the elation and relief he was feeling.
"And now onto the best part," Fritz said with an avaricious smirk. "Loot."
Comments
Scarhand
Loot is indeed the best part
Octophobia
Thank you!
Mortamir
What a glorious battle!
