You know, this title could be referring to so many different things I'm still not sure which were intended. Maybe all of them were? That seems to fit Rihaku.
Best to cut to the heart of the problem and remove the wurm-beast. The sheer scale of its battle with the giant was sufficient to cause collateral damage for every minute that it proceeded unnecessarily. He took stock of the implements available to him as he prepared to move.
Hunger, of course, immediately declares it to be the most obvious one. But that's not unexpected. This was probably the best choice, as investigating the city would be cool but Giant monster battles? Count me in!
There was the Blade of the Tyrant's Forebear. It had broken alongside him in the process of delivering his final blow to its first wielder's progeny. Had that been simple overexertion or evidence of a deeper connection? It hardly mattered now. When he'd abducted the Blade from the Tyrant's catacombs it had bonded to him fully, had leapt to his hand from the crypt, fierce and eager in its willingness to serve, the vigor of a weapon suffering dire neglect...
You know, Hunger really does have a talent for stealing things and making them his own. This was our first hint of that. Stealing the sword of his enemy's Forebear and using it to kill them? I'm not sure if that's cliche or passe, ironic, or just plain weird. Still, so many of things deal with the Tyrant or Forebear we must keep vigilant watch to make sure Hunger does not become like them. I fear his affinity for stealing the tools of his enemies might mean he is more similar to them than they would like to admit... The broken sword, of course, matches the brokeness of the wielder. As one is repaired so shall the other.
It had never betrayed him across years of insurgency. In time they had become a single being, their story a single legend, the hero true and Sword That Was Stolen, of disparate origin but as thick as thieves.
Yep, powerful sword bonded to us so strongly it became ours. Hunger really need to be careful to keep the mental contamination limited, because he could become a real monster. Still, for now the Sword is but a tool with which we may channel the little power we had then, and the still-low but more significant power we have now.
In truth it was inaccurate to think of them as separate entities. The sword was a part of him like his liver or heart, and just as essential to the hero's function. Before his infusion of Accursed power it had slumbered comatose, form and purpose shattered as he had been. All that remained of the bastard sword's blade was a jagged shard about a foot in length, but the Accursed's infusion of power had reached it as it had reached every other part of his self. The broken Blade had quickened once more, its mere presence imparting him with an echo of the Forebear's storied might, the power of Ruin suffusing his every strike.
I am so very, very glad we have Ruin. The ability to whittle down even the strongest of foes is a very useful power, so long as you can survive to employ it.
But that was not the only artifact touched by the Accursed's spark. There on his hand was the ring Hunger, a band of black mythril surmounted by crimson, the final memento of his journey and the only one stolen from the Tyrant's corpse. Rumor abounded that the ring was the source of the Tyrant's martial gift, but in his hands it had only been a powerless token. Now it had awakened, bound to him by Accursed investiture and fused indestructibly to his index finger.
Our second Artifact, this one stolen from the Tyrant. Hunger will be our name, our burden, and our gift. The ring was a very powerful choice, though I am wary of it's ruling aspects. They remind me of the origin described here. I fear that we risk setting Destiny on us as well as the Apocryphal curse if we draw upon those aspects. We may overcome destiny, but the price will be sharp.
It impelled him towards action, towards greatness, the fulfillment of his human potential; prodded him to embrace the joys and sorrows of life fearlessly and without regret. So too was the ability it imparted: the hero's capacity to advance via personal training would be greatly diminished, but any form of conflict or genuine endeavor would grant power tenfold.
A gift, and a price. In truth with the Apocryphal curse sitting around studying was never an option. There was never much chance we could truly grow the slow way like that. So the price of the ring is truly small indeed. And the benefit is great and can be made greater indeed.
A shame his armor had been stolen from him in the hours leading up to his assassination. But the Forebear's Blade granted resilience enough.
Yeah, we really needed that a few times. We eventually got a nifty cloak to make up for it though!
He bounded forth, greenery whirling by as yards and miles disappeared beneath him, towards the city of white stone in which the colossi fought. The situation became clearer as he approached: the common folk of the city, better dressed and fed than those of the Tyrant's world, were fighting a desperate action against a horde of hyena beasts, which streamed like spilled blood from the dragon-jackal's wounds. The city was pervaded by them, creatures beyond number, and he drew his blade as he reached the walls, propelling himself with a crack of thunder through an open gate and into the fray.
One of the only glimpses of civilization we have of the voyaging realm. And what do we do? We rush headlong into killing all the monsters in sight! Hunger is still a Hero. That much is not in question.
Like a falling meteor he struck, the steady tide of beasts become a sea in tumult. The force of his impact rippled outwards, monsters hurled like stray droplets as the fight began in earnest.
These minions aren't a match for us at all, really. We'll blaze straight through them. Which is probably why we decided to just go the direct route.
There was no time to waste. He scythed though their ranks with brutal efficiency, carving a path to the progenitor dragon. Thirty stories it towered above them, blotting out sky and sun, its reddish-brown carapace mottled with scars. As creatures poured from a wound, the cut itself steadily shrank in size. Troubling.
See? Didn't even break a sweat, even this soon after gaining Power. Man that Kaiju is big... and it has healing. Well, I suppose that is exactly what Ruin is for!
Nearly of a height with it was its opponent, a bio-mechanical giant armored in dark grey with accents of red. Hydraulics and ceramic plate spoke to a degree of sophistication that was absent from the city around them, but its overall appearance was disheveled, parts ill-fitting or in disrepair. Its head bore little resemblance to that of a human's; a fierce and angular thing with livid gold eyes, sporting an enormous maw filled with cruel, curving fangs.
As the story itself notes later on, totally an Eva-analog. I'm really hoping no one's mother's soul is shoved into that thing. That seems unpleasant. It is also very damaged. I wonder how much longer it would have been able to keep going if we hadn't arrived? This fight would have been won, but what about the next, and the next, and the next?
But that was hardly its strangest feature. At the top of each arm where the shoulder would normally lie was another armored head, neckless as if in place of a pauldron, similar in structure down to the fanged maw. These had eyes of green; the rightmost face stared appraising down at him. As he watched, the giant attacked, pulling aside the dragon's arm to bite at its neck, shoulder-face tearing into the flesh of that arm as it came into range.
Three heads is just odd. And the eye colors. Should they all be gold, or is there a meaning to the should-heads having green eyes? The Armament is quite powerful despite its injuries, though. More than a match for this astral beast as we get to see here.
It was probably this thing that had sparked his feeling of affinity, this devourer with three heads. Indeed he felt no hostility from it, though it hardly seemed overly solicitous.
Shame we didn't investigate this sooner, but there just wasn't a chance with the whole Fishing incident. Oh well, it was a bare few days of the Decimator's curse doing double duty.
He had almost reached the place of their duel, its radius of devastation increasingly apparent, when he was stopped short by a bolt of phantasmal force.
You know, it's only on rereading like this that I realized we met Gisena when she
shot us to get our attention. If I didn't know she was lesser remittance I would have been much warier of her.
"Another outlander! Can you help me evacuate these guys?" An inappropriately cheerful voice accosted him. The interloper was a woman in a finely-tailored dress, its gossamer material streaked with trails of blood and gore, though none of it appeared to be her own. Blue eyes, pale violet hair and distractingly beautiful, inhumanly so. The hackles of his suspicion rose. Some form of Fey? Her ears seemed normal enough, but that could be glamour.
No, no fae. Just... Gisena. She is quite powerful in her own right for sure. Her beauty is a thing of Grace, of course. As our own form will be shaped by the benefits we get from our Experience. ...Asking Hunger to do something. Bold, and risky. The Doom of the Tyrant can be... finicky, at the best of times.
She was leading a large convoy of civilians out from the epicenter, so likely not an enemy. Her bolts seemed to stun and disorient those beasts they struck. It could be a ruse, improbable as it seemed. He'd allow it, at least until the civilians crossed the boulevard, but would stay on guard.
Fortunately the Doom of the Tyrant was quelled before it could take off. We came very close to triggering it here, though. Fortunately Hunger is a Hero and still has a Hero's instinct for helping people, so Gisena just pointed out something he already would have done instead of ordering him to do it. That would have ended badly.
"Fine," he assented. "Stay out of my way."
"So grumpy," she huffed, arriving at his side. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?"
"Maybe I'm always rude."
She laughed airily. "A handsome knight like you? I don't believe it!"
He sighed. "Is now the time for this?"
"When better? We could die at any moment, you know. What, afraid you can't keep up?"
"Yes. So focus on the battle."
"Liar. You're even faster than me! So, where are you headed next? Going to attack that dragon? I could help..."
Banter! Also a good look into our interactions to come. Gisena is quite skilled as handling Hunger without doing anything that might run afoul of Doom of the Tyrant. This is quite impressive given she doesn't know about it beyond a vague impression at this point in time. ...Or maybe that's just her personality. It does seem to be how she always acts.
Finally the civilians were through. Tides of translucent force emanated from her, sweeping through the hyena-beasts emerging from the dragon. Where that magic passed, the creatures swayed and sat as if in a stupor.
Nullity is quite powerful against anything magical. We really need to be wary of that ourselves at this point. Unfortunately the Kaiju itself is too powerful for her to defeat. But keeping the small fry busy is useful indeed.
She seemed capable enough. "Yes. Come if you like."
"How forward! I knew you liked me after all."
"...Circle around to the far side. I'll hit it from the front."
"As if you'd get rid of me that easily! If you get me to the head, I can bypass its healing. Then you finish it off?"
He grunted in assent. "Can you survive a fall? I could throw you into range, then sprint up the tail."
"A delicate flower like me? I'm not so acrobatic. Carry me?" She batted her eyelashes.
"Fine. Climb on."
"I'd prefer a princess carry, but this is fine too." She kipped up and hugged his neck, crossing slender legs against his stomach. He did his best to ignore the prominent sensation of her chest against his back. Her skin was milk-pale, no sun exposure, hands free of callous. Likely a life spent indoors, with servants for menial work.
More Banter! Also Hunger is quite observant, when he wants to be and isn't exhausted. He's also apparently a good judge of capability, given how useful she has proven so far. Though perhaps that is on us, since once again Lesser Remittance.
Yet her speed and precision were above the level of ordinary humans. A product of her magic alone, rather than experience? No. She was composed in battle, suggesting some level of familiarity. Perhaps that selfsame magic reverted any changes to her form.
Sorcery and Graces. You'll be getting an education in that yourself, probably, Hunger. Depends if we encounter any of the better ones before we take Wreath. But that's a worry for the far future. For now, a fight to win.
Once she was secure, he sprang forward, leaping up to land on the dragon's tail. From what he could recall, he'd never actually slain a dragon before. That would have been a memory worth saving.
I wonder if he has and forgot? We know his memory-saving was imperfect, at best. But I suppose the Tyrant couldn't handle something as intelligent and arrogant as a Dragon. Too much of a personality clash.
Plunging his blade into its side, he ran up its length, too quick for it to toss. Had its attention not been diverted by a renewed assault from its chief opponent, perhaps it could have dealt with him, but not in its current sorry state. Where his blade passed, flesh parted cleanly and sloughed to the side, up and across the whole of its spine until it came apart as if unzipped. The sorceress followed up with another wave of her magic, nullifying its regeneration.
Sword acrobatics! Always fun. Especially when your sword spreads Ruin to all it touches. Still, without Gisena to nullify the regeneration this would have been a much harder fight. Ruin would have carried the day, but it would have been a much closer thing.
He attacked with savagery as they reached the head, blade-force projected into great thrusts and cleaving arcs to carve away at the dragon's skull. The sorceress shifted, holding her left arm against his collarbone to fire away with her outstretched right. Before long they had reached the brain. Crossed slashes cut it into quarters; a volley of bolts and it trembled, falling still.
Hunger has lost much of his skill on top of everything else, to be reduced to this. Still, he is no slouch.
The ring Hunger pulsed on his finger, a warm flood of power radiating outwards into his body, and through him the Forebear's Blade. The spoils of victory, progression so rapid it felt unfair. He would have to get used to that.
And the Ring almost immediately pays for itself. Even the reward of a single fight was sufficient to prove it was worth it and more.
"I hope this thing doesn't dissolve beneath us," he grumbled.
"It won't. The flesh itself is nonmagical, it was only infused with magic. Mostly its nervous system, which distributed the power as it was needed." She leapt down to inspect its wounds. "What an interesting specimen! It's a shame biology's not my forte."
"You're a scientist?"
"The very best!" She exclaimed, standing up to face him with a lecturing finger. "Lady Gisena Allria, Sorceress of Nullity and genius technologist, at your service!"
And so we finally get an introduction to the her, her magic, and her knowledge. This is one to keep, if we may. Decimator will make that more difficult than it has to be, but we shall figure it out.
"What do you think about that?" He pointed his chin at the humanoid abomination, which stared at them unblinkingly. Steam hissed out from a set of cylinders in its neck, a pillar of smoke to join the countless coiling upwards into the sky.
Steam from the neck? Are we entirely sure he isn't a titan?
The sense of affinity had grown with proximity, almost sharp now like an ache. He was certain. It was this thing - the monster itself, not any pilot or creature that resided within - that held that affinity to him, aligned across some inexpressible valence.
Decimator's affliction calls to itself.
...I wonder, does decimator's affliction harm others nearby that also have it? Probably not relevant, given the power of Progression can likely outscale someone else's drain.
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1214 this time. Woo.
