Hunger has to compensate for his lost youth somehow! But with context, the title becomes almost melancholy. Week one and we're already drawing more parallels between Hunger and the Tyrant. We wear his ring and wield his Forebear's Blade, we bear the Tyrant's Doom, Indenture binds us to the task of conquest. How much further will we go, before all is said and done? As far as is necessary, I suppose. The Accursed was wise to caution us not to become what we despise.
He awoke steadily from slumber, the high sun of noon creeping into his eyes through a giant's upraised fingers. Below was the chirping of birds and the slow, drawling hum of cicadas, trees creaking slightly in the breeze.
Have you ever seen anything so full of natural splendor? What a beautiful sight to wake up to, all that's missing is the frolicking of woodland creatures. But we should always mistrust contentment.
Slowly, the Armament above him flexed its fingers, steam pouring from countless apertures as it rose clumsily to its full height. From this distance he could clearly see how badly diminished was the weapon's current state: the errant, too-pale flickering of runes stenciled on its flesh; the choking, muffled retort of its damaged mechanical systems; and even the bone-deep weariness reflected in its stance.
Sounds like Verschlengorge had a late night with too much hard liquor, but the truth's worse. We still don't know what damaged him or how he can be repaired. Hunger's instincts hinted that it wouldn't take much for the deluge to come again, but that was before he took even more damage. It's not like we can dial 1-800-FOREMOST and get them to send a tech out to take a look at the Armament. At least the Human Sphere's able to construct Armor Prototypes, that's cause for optimism.
You and me both. Though he'd slept in, he was nowhere close to fully recovered from yesterday's exertions. His physical body felt fine, perhaps even stronger than before, infused with a portion of the King Fish's thrashing vitality. The wound in his side stung sharply as he raised himself up with his elbows, but it was a brisk sharpness, jolting him awake.
But his powers of spirit, what Letrizia called his Astral Rank, was badly depleted still. It was a dull, hollow exhaustion, a blankness of the marrow, his soul's sharpness worn down to a nub.
Going after the King, even though we didn't miss, was in retrospect probably a bad idea. Exhaustion and Arete debt are to be avoided at all costs going forward, but at least we're not talking about butter scraped over too much bread. Like Foxglove, the Apocryphal Curse is always eager to point out how things could be worse.
"Good, you're awake." Gisena came into view, a pale, fatigued cast to her features. Without pausing she unleashed a Tide of Nullity into the open air, then turned and threw another.
We were warned, now the bill's come due. Gisena seems to have incurred some exhaustion of her own, though as a Third Coalescence Sorceress she's less time-constrained than her juniors. Graces that don't come with their own mana bar like the Evoker's Panoply don't seem to have usage limits beyond the Sorceress' own stamina and the eight-hour transformation window.
"What's going on?" Fighting through the hollowness, he sprang to his feet, the Forebear's Blade appearing his grip.
"We've got incoming," Gisena said, briefly wiping sweat off her brow. "Some kind of portal, but not an Astral effect. And they're persistent, too! Hundreds of attempts over this past hour."
They should've taken the hint, surely their attempts to port in getting dispelled was a clue that things weren't going as planned? 'Ber' seems like one to need repeated applications of the cluebat before seeing reason, though. It's also strange that he's acting as the agent of an Astral Lord but the portals
aren't Astral Rifts. Cue another bout of curiosity as to what human civilization looks like with this strange blend of technology and magic.
"You should have woken me," he said, coming to her side.
She shot him a cheery smile, with only a hint of strain. "Nope! Both you and Zea were out like a light! And you need your rest most of all, whereas I'm positively brimming with energy!"
Translating from Gisena-speak, even I'll acknowledge this is a nice gesture. Would Sleep In would've played out differently had the Arete won? But yes, we've overreached and badly need to hunt down some Zs, without being only mostly exhausted we might've died here. The Evening Sky explicitly saved Hunger's life, though admittedly had we not purchased it we would've bought off exhaustion with Arete.
"I'm operational," Letrizia's voice boomed from Verschlengorge, testily flexing a hand. "Or as close to it as we can be in this state."
There's that 'we' again, referring to Verschlengorge as a person. If anime has taught me anything, it's that piloting a mech's more than a test of skill or dexterity. Compatibility's the godstat for aspiring pilots; what makes the fairly ordinary Duchess compatible with the Devouring Armament? Why is she unworried about Verschlengorge's Affliction? We
really need to get in the robot.
"I suppose it's too much to hope they'd give up," Gisena said. "And running won't do us any good if they have portals. Well, if they're dying to see us, how about we grant their wish?"
Even Gisena has her limits, eh? She's impressively sanguine about her backstory, hasn't so much as
mentioned Jotarun or any of her old friends after that brief initial explanation, which is... disappointing, in a way. I'm sad that she's not sad; I liked Jeanne and thinking about her AU counterpart's bones getting gnawed on isn't fun. If Hunger or Letrizia were to die, would she move on just as quickly? Then again, Hunger hasn't displayed much in the way of outward angst, so perhaps it's a very good mask.
"We'll talk about this later," he growled, advancing upon the now-forming portals. Fuck these so-called interesting times.
You can consider that sentiment thoroughly reciprocated. The ultimate form of Apocryphal mitigation's got to be subjective interpretation, the Cursebearer deciding what qualifies as 'interesting' to them. If the Tyrant's Doom can theoretically be weaponized with sufficient effort, could the Apocryphal Curse be yoked as well? We're already specced to benefit from constant combat, that was the point of the TSM build.
"I await your commendation eagerly!" she responded.
There was no more time for talk as the shimmering blue portals finally gained a semblance of solidity. Scarce had the outline of their occupants appeared before he ducked, avoiding the chest-height Tide of Nullity that Gisena fired into the occlusion.
I guess her Nullity's too potent for ablative tanking with the Evening Sky to be viable? Or it's simply a waste to do that in the opening round when coordinating can achieve better results. Hunger and Gisena have been fighting in tandem for a while now.
The first intruder appeared with a baffled shriek, the magic of her armor smothered under Gisena's assault, and he swiftly followed up with a pommel-strike to her sword arm, bone splintering under his enhanced strength.
Though they'd ambushed one, the full party had materialized successfully: one man, a mechanical construct, and two other women, all outfitted in rugged armor with an assortment of faintly glowing artifacts.
A solid beginning, but a band of motley misfits is cause for concern. Group of five, mismatched equipment, entered through portals? We're not just facing adventurers or even murderhobos, these are
MMO-players. The apogee of sociopathic greed, and we're effectively a dungeon on... heroic mode.
"Took 'em long enough," the man whined, eyes sweeping the party. "The fuck? They didn't say anything about adds. You guys deal with those, the monster's mine."
Yeah, well, we didn't exactly receive advance notice either. Unpleasant surprises all around, but at least we're not naive enough to assume the world's remotely fair. Anyway, Ber's habit of external narration can be mined for intel. 'They' implies he was working with a team who were opening the portals for him, either subordinates of the Astral Lord or more mercenaries.
"Yes, my lord!" Spoke the others, even as Hunger pulled the first intruder close and plunged his blade into her sternum. A swift stroke brought her life to an end as the remainder of the party advanced on him.
That synchronized response gives me Code Geass flashbacks. Is Ber an actual noble or does he have a loyalty system of some kind? They could just be humoring him, but dissecting their party dynamics and speculating's more fun.
The male leapt forward with a thump of displaced air, his blade glowing brilliant blue before it unleashed an arc of energy into Verschlengorge's direction. Too slow to evade or block, the Armament took the blow across the torso, leaving a great smoldering gouge in the plating on its chest. Hunger frowned.
To continue the MMO instance parallels, Ber's a tank/dps hybrid so obviously he tries to burn the boss down while the rest of the party handles adds. An ambitious spec, going balls to the wall and blowing cooldowns right out of the gate, but the Devourer boss fight's got a soft enrage timer. Can't let Decimator tick too many times! Anyway, for a Getsuga Tensho ripoff that thing does a fair bit of damage. Now I'm wondering how much killing him could upgrade our blade projections. Edge cuts both ways, kid, you're not the only murderhobo in the world.
Then the attackers were upon him, a nymphlike woman wielding an elaborate sword and a cool-eyed blonde who covered her with crossbow fire. The construct attempted to rush past, targeting Gisena single-mindedly, but he intercepted it easily as null bolts rained down around them. None of them seemed particularly concerned about the loss of their first companion.
Not caring about their dead party member's odd, maybe she was another mercenary? Sending their least valuable member in to draw the fire of whatever was blocking the portals is cold, but it worked.
"We must disable the mage," the construct groaned, bronze armor clanking as it traded blows with him. Its internals held up poorly against the power of ruin, scars of riven metal opening at each point of contact.
The construct's unconcerned with the way the battle's going, could be that it's controlled remotely and destruction's just a financial loss for the pilot? Another potential survivor means more intel leaked about our capabilities.
"I'll give the orders, mercenary." The swordmaiden said frostily, ducking back to avoid another volley from his Sorceress. "But I do agree. Beth, as we practiced?"
The swordswoman was a striking beauty, her features haughty and regular, crimson hair and pristine blue eyes, though plain in comparison to Gisena. Her companion, 'Beth,' was shorter and mousier, wearing a hood to cover her golden locks.
Hm, Seralize's appearance invites comparisons to Amaryllis, particularly paired with a blonde archer and in light of the upgrades offered later. If Ber's a Juniper analogue, he's not a flattering one.
"Sure," Beth nodded. The two women withdrew.
He took the opportunity to pressure the construct, accepting a blow against the Evening Sky to slice open the thing's neck. It reeled, stumbling backwards, but before he could finish it the crossbow wielder appeared overhead.
Short-range teleportation or Sera tossing Beth to give her a better vantage point? Likely the latter. Their teamwork's decent but truly practiced partners wouldn't need this kind of communication. All in all, it's a mess; they don't care about the mercenaries and Ber's just off doing his own thing, whaling on Verschlengorge.
"Nice!" Shouted the swordmaiden as her ally fired, several powerfully enchanted bolts hurtling towards Gisena. The Sorceress dipped and weaved, emitting a wave of dispellation, but was caught in the arm. Gisena whimpered but wasted no time, snapping off the bodkin tip and pulling the bolt free. She drew Letrizia's sidearm and began to return fire.
Not using broadheads against a human target? Charitably, we can assume Beth prepared to fight Verschlengorge rather than the 'adds'. Using a crossbow in this weird mashup of guns, mechs, and magic's a questionable decision in and of itself, but the bolts were enchanted.
Growling, he hurled his blade at the midair archer and pounced on the golem, kicking off its chest to propel himself skyward. Beth contorted wildly to dodge his thrown sword, then spun with languid grace to evade Gisena's fire, heedless of leverage or gravity. But she did not see the Forebear's Blade hurtling back as he recalled it to hand.
She gave a startled, hapless shriek as the sword-fragment embedded itself in her side. An instant later he reached her, clothesline to the solar plexus driving her to the earth. Before she could recover his fist rained down with haymaker force, ending her life.
The double-jump's a neat trick, but insufficient against Hunger. Also, nice, we finally faked someone out with a boomerang throw, I've been waiting for that capability to become relevant.
Slow. He was too slow, his instincts numb. He was caught in the flow of the world, instead the rock against which it broke. Had he been anywhere near fighting form, an opponent of this level would never have been allowed to hurt Gisena, and the golem would already be carven scrap.
But what was the point of dwelling? Nothing to do but fight on. His ring pulsed, feeding him with strength from the intruders he'd felled.
He pulled free the Forebear's Blade and moved to once again interpose himself between the construct and his Sorceress, but a howl of stark grief stole his attention.
"ELIZABETH!" Screamed the redhead, her eyes wet with tears. "You- you bastard. You'll pay..."
The absence of Unshattered is keenly felt here, this pack of middling idiots would've been dust in the wind of his Rank if Hunger was more than an exhausted shadow of his former self. The contrast between her indifference to the demise of their first party member and reaction to Beth's death leaves me wondering what the hell's going on with these people? No analogy's a perfect fit and her rage seems laughable. What did she expect, us to lie down and die?
She began to tremble, hair rising in an invisible wind. Furiously he pushed past the golem, unwilling to let her complete whatever technique -
Slow. A moment too late he reached her, and by then her eyes had snapped open, infused with amaranthine energy. She blurred, tearing into him, Celtic knot of her sword pulsing as it pressed against his cloak of stars. Her blade sang as it moved, a mournful hum that intensified steadily, increasing her own speed until she dissolved into a whirlwind of slashing strokes.
Hunger's feelings about lacking haste are relatable, the flow of this battle's a microcosm of the way he's engaging with the world. Caught up in the current of events, weathering the Apocryphal Curse's blows, attempting to recover from the latest complication rather than getting ahead of the curve. 'Slow' is a damning adjective for anyone who remembers Jounin Quest and Noboru's teachings. First, Hunger must learn
speed; fortunately he picked some up from this battle.
"My name is Seralize vi Esterarc. And I am your end, monster. It's not about the money or even the glory. I'LL AVENGE HER IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!"
How many times had he proclaimed similarly, when faced with the Tyrant's cruelty? Had he sounded so ridiculous? The fact that she was distracted by her monologue was the only reason he was able to keep her at bay.
Going full Inigo Montoya, not even once. This declaration betrays both her inexperience and initial objectives. And really, money and glory? She's going to try and claim the moral high ground after coming here on an assassination mission? Rage isn't rational, but there's serious hypocrisy here. If this story has a moral, it's that if you come at a Cursebearer, you better not miss.
Gisena tried to assist, darting to the side, probing for an angle. The badly-damaged construct doggedly followed her, forcing her to disengage.
I kind of feel for the construct, honestly, as the only surviving professional in this band of escaped asylum inmates.
The force of Seralize's hatred was as a palpable thing. It suppressed his initiative and lent unnatural sharpness to her blows. Her sword fell upon him from all angles, grazing neck and cheek, nicking his ear, scraping against his forehead to send blood into his eye. The Evening Sky lent his flesh the same impossible resistance he'd faced against the pirate captain, else he would have died threefold in one exchange.
So, this is what the receiving end of Pressure feels like. Sera's Rank is impressive enough by the standards of the Human Sphere that I wonder if she and Ber aren't outsiders too? The Voyager's Realm has no end of ammunition for the Apocryphal Curse to throw at us. That we're taking wounds from a random swordswoman, not even the primary thrust of this Apocryphal proc, isn't a great sign. If Hunger had access to his own Pressure the bout would be more even, but this encounter leaves me with the worrying feeling that we need to get good
fast.
Was he any better than the Tyrant, in the end? Was vengeance alone a goal worthy of all this?
Right, because the Apocryphal Curse can't be content with mere physical threats, that would be
uninteresting. All the procs so far have echoed Hunger's past, from the pirate's violet blade to the Tyrant Beast's name and aesthetic. With perspective, it's easy to see this line of thought for a false equivalence. That these people decided to commit suicide by Verschlengorge does not make Hunger the incarnation of everything he fought against. But how will living through centuries of this influence his character? After the hundredth ambush by monologue-spouting murderhobos, hearing the same inane oaths of vengeance, even the deepest well of empathy would run dry.
He jumped back slightly, resignation coming over his features. There was not much left in him, but if he exerted all he had, could he reach her, just this once?
"I get it," he said, looking his would-be murderer directly in the eye. "And I'm sorry."
She nodded bitterly. "As it should be."
This is an interesting place to spend what remains of his reserves, but as the saying goes, if it's stupid and it works...
With a final vengeful roar, she thrust forward, the gleam of her blade like a falling star. He made no move to intercept, stepping into the blow, taking it into his side, all but collapsing on her.
As the blade sprouted from his back, she let out a grim, tremulous sigh of catharsis, then began to pull her sword free for the finishing blow. The weight of his cloak was like a leaden mantle around them.
Still caught in that impromptu embrace, she was unable to evade when he stabbed her in the spine. The Evening Sky billowed and swarmed, holding her longsword in place to prevent further damage, blanketing them and smothering them, gentle dying of the light. Grimly he twisted his blade, cutting flesh and spirit, fell energies severing body from mind, soul from essence. A mortal wound.
That Sera bought this can be attributed to Hunger's charisma and the fact that he wasn't lying. He does understand and is sorry, it's just that neither fact suffices to dissuade him. Still, that she was susceptible to the ploy at all doesn't speak well of her cunning; I rescind the Amaryllis analogy. She expected him to
literally give up and die, called him a monster for slaying in self-defense? Did we accidentally enroll in a Curse exchange program to bear the Brand of the Wretched for a week? What bizarro dimension are these people
from?
Strike a thousand times, or strike one blow that tells.
We don't have A Thousand Cuts or enough stamina for a Fell-Handed Stroke, but experience always tells. The Tyrant was weaker than the Hero in their final confrontation, but managed to bridge the gap. Another unpleasant parallel for the Apocryphal Curse to exploit.
"Hate..." she rasped, blood flecking his cheek. "I... hate you..."
He closed his eyes. "I know."
He tore free the Forebear's Blade and cut off her head.
Age and treachery, the Tyrant had told him once. Against such forces as that, what was the vigor of youth? Merely the purposeless guttering of an over-bright flame.
Age and treachery are the Nightmare Praetor's advantages, compounded by internalizing our tactics here as a feat. But the vigor of youth was lost to Hunger long ago. All that remains is the bitter, sober strength of age; Hunger could tell Seralize a thing or two about hate.
By walking into her strike, controlling the angle, he'd directed the blow down the path of his existing wound, minimizing the damage. Still, the pain was intense even under the soporific numbness of the Evening Sky. She'd widened the cut broadly and managed to nick his intestines. Not a wound that would trouble him much, if he were at full strength. As it was...
Letrizia screamed in pain, and his head snapped around to take in his companions.
Gisena had worn down the construct, which looked to be on its last legs, though she'd taken a nasty scrape from its claws. Verschlengorge was tottering, brought to one knee by the onslaught of bright blue energies hounding it.
Everybody's taking wounds, the situation doesn't look good. Hunger was maimed to begin with and still recovering from the pirate and now Verschlengorge's been all but butchered. That'll slow down our party, possibly even disable the Armament's navigation systems. I wonder if Letrizia wouldn't have been safer making the return trip on her own, all things considered.
Letrizia's opponent nodded to himself as he struck, his eyes steady and calculating, baiting her into an overhead swing before darting sideways to target the joints. Even the Armament's cockpit was exposed, smoke rising steadily from its insides. As he fought, the intruder spoke, an incessant stream of affirmational nonsense mixed with strange jargon.
"C'mon Ber, you've got this. Patterns are down solid. One last phase and it's payday. Just gotta do like you do, only it's real life. Done it a hundred times..."
What are we, chopped liver? The possibly-literal truth of that aside, Letrizia isn't alone. So much for it being "just like the simulations," asshole. Again with the MMO terminology, thinking in terms of phases, focused on predicting the boss. Ber has a bad case of tunnel vision, if he hasn't noticed that his 'friends' are all dead. One last phase might mean Versch still has something left in the tank? Searching for silver linings, here.
The last invader spared a glance for them, and briefly paused in shock to see his companions scattered and lifeless. His body was not bare of wounds either; cuts and burns covered his skin, and his left shoulder was one enormous bruise, though compared to Verschlengorge he seemed able and hale. He leapt back, dodging a translucent wave from Gisena, scanning the three of them rapidly.
"Even Sera? She's allowed to die? Shitfuck. Should have known an Astral Lord would try to fuck me, no matter how shiny the prize." He mumbled to himself, sword raised in a guard position. "Assess."
Allowed to die. Positively disgusting, this guy's existence adds insult to the injury of Hunger's history. What a baffling combination of entitlement and delusion. His only redeeming quality's being a walking infosec breach, leaking relevant intel faster than Hunger's losing blood. An 'Astral Lord' putting out a hit on an Armament makes a kind of sense, since the Rift-spawned creatures target them, but implies a disturbing level of intelligence and agency. Clearly the Astral rabbit-hole goes deeper than just Lovecraftian gribblies.
Hunger frowned. It almost sounded like this guy had come from Earth, or a realm like it. Not that it mattered at this juncture. Gently extracting the now-dull steel of Seralize's longsword, he prepared to advance on the man. Warmth from the ring on his finger, sending power down his arm. Warmth from the wound as well, leaking strength down his side.
Idly he wondered if he could actually defeat this man. He was getting light-headed. Convincing Seralize had taken too much out of him.
Imagine if we hadn't slept in, then we wouldn't have been capable of even that. That fucking fish had better have been really tasty.
"Information not found..." the intruder whispered, eyes going wide. "System, what the fuck is this? Some kind of hidden boss bullshit?"
Evading another Tide of Nullity, their enemy shook his head. "Fuck it. Gotta bail, come back when I'm higher level. Hey, fuckwad!"
A psychological weakness, that's what the fuck it is. His gaming experience may have prepared him for the Voyager's Realm and whatever powers he now commands, but Ber's accustomed to knowing his enemies. The system feeds him intel and no doubt he watched videos of successful raids to prepare for clearing attempts in the past. He's accustomed to knowing the patterns and implementing countermeasures. But he lacks the ability to improvise and I'd bet his ego's fragile too, since he talks to himself constantly.
If When he comes back, we should see about throwing him off his game, timing social offense with breaking out unfamiliar powers.
He pointed his sword at Hunger, its flat the cold, unending blue of a cloudless sky. "You're dead, okay? All of you. No one kills my... friends and lives to talk about it. See ya."
The ellipsis really says it all. We haven't even tried trash-talking yet! At least it bodes well for him flying off the handle later, he hasn't tasted real hardship or loss before.
So saying, he launched a torrential strike directly at Letrizia's cockpit, a sky-furrowing wave of blue that devoured the land as it traveled. Hunger and Gisena both moved to intercept, but even her focused Nullity only diminished the attack.
Panting in exhaustion, the invader gestured listlessly again. A portal of the same color quickly engulfed him.
Might be a link between the portal mechanism and his sword? That thing's strong, if even Nullity can't fully suppress a strike. Working for an Astral Lord but not deploying through the Rifts continues to be strange too, I'd like to see what their operation looks like from the other side. If we kill him with enough Arete in the tank, can
we start thinking with portals? Sure would be nice to just peace out and dodge Apocryphal procs.
Hunger hurled himself at the remnants of the attack, cloak fully spread, managing to divert it off-course, though his arm was seared very nearly to the bone. Gisena approached quickly, holding her bleeding arm.
"Check on Letrizia," he grunted, collapsing. "I'll be fine."
There's not a snowball's chance in hell that Ber would do the same for one of his companions, that Hunger defaults to sacrificing for the sake of his friends is one reason among many I like him.
"On it!" Gisena said, running her fingers gently over his shoulder before sprinting for the Armament.
Letrizia was hurt, her left side marred by burns. Gisena carefully set her down on the grass and opened the medical kit. The young duchess whined, twisting away from her ministrations.
"I can stabilize her," Gisena began worriedly, "but she won't be in any fit state to travel. What do you think we should do?"
If Shine Bright winds up winning, I hope it does something for Verschlengorge too. This ambush has been a literal and metaphorical wakeup call; we can't continue to accrue wounds and complications at this rate.
2370 words. I'm conflicted about the vote, but when in doubt,
pursue power write reactions; that is never wrong. The index should be up to date as well.