Heart of the Matter
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.
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...
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.
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.
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.
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 shame his armor had been stolen from him in the hours leading up to his assassination. But the Forebear's Blade granted resilience enough.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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.
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.
"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..."
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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!"
"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.
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.
---
[X] Luna Conquerer and [X] Cut Off the Head have won. With the abomination's help and Gisena's Nullity, the hero managed to slay the dragon and reap a bounty of strength.
Gisena Allria. She knows more than she lets on. Always suggesting, requesting or implying, never commanding directly. Does her power to nullify magic allow her to perceive the contours of the Tyrant's Doom? Instinct tells you that her powers could weaken your own, to a degree. Had she desired your death, she would have had numerous chances. That she hasn't taken one doesn't mean she's entirely trustworthy...
[ ] Trustworthy Enough - But the chance is low enough that you aren't terribly concerned. There are far more pressing matters in play. [Take 1 extra Selection below, +Gisena]
[ ] Keep Your Distance - You know too little at this juncture. Best to prepare countermeasures if you can. [Gain Null Resistance - Your magic can't be reduced below 30% by any source]
What did the murdered dragon yield? Choose 2, or 3 with Trustworthy Enough. Until the new mechanics are up, thread participation can earn extra picks.
[ ] Sword That Was Stolen - Thick As Thieves - The Forebear's cunning and force of personality. Highly likely to cause mental contamination. Can be taken multiple times. [+Charisma, +Intelligence, +Heartlessness]
[ ] Forebear's Blade - Echo of the Forebear - Cloud-shadow of the Forebear's might. Legendary strength and speed, and the resilience to exert them. Can be taken multiple times. [+Might, +Agility]
[ ] Forebear's Blade - Fell-Handed Stroke - A devastating blow of unutterable magnificence from which no recovery is possible. A powerful, but draining strike that inflicts cursed wounds from which spirit and will leak as freely as blood. Resists healing.
[ ] Hunger - Feast of Lives. The Ring Hunger brings unnatural vigor, staunching wounds and replenishing blood, but its true strength is evident only at the moment of triumph. Gain modest regeneration and improved health of the body. Briefly gain extreme regeneration upon defeating a non-trivial opponent. [2 picks]
*Your appetite quadruples and you become more carnivorous.
*So long as you feed this appetite well, reduce the Decimator's Affliction by .5% a year. Doesn't increase difficulty of future mitigations.
*Without a regular supply of animal-based foods, you will suffer increasing penalties to your bodily health, and increase the Decimator's Affliction by 2% a year.
*Healing's convenient to advance through battle. Lifesteal's great.
[ ] Hunger - Might's Repose. With every exertion comes a moment of repose; that is nature's proper order. Sleep and physical rest are not inconveniences to be pared away, but an inextricable part of life's rhythms. [2 picks]
*Like an Elder Wyrm of yore, the more you sleep, the more powerful you become.
*Sleeping at least 9 hours a day yields the following benefits: You become only stronger, wiser, and more glorious with age, never becoming infirm, as if the travails of aging themselves have an inverse effect on you. You gain a substantial bonus to physical attributes and a minor bonus to mental attributes for the day. You are immune to hostile effects that would tire or exhaust you or induce artificial sleep.
*You may sleep up to 90% of the time. When sleeping, you grow stronger with age at twice the normal rate.
*The strength of age is not the vigor of youth. It is stabler and more fearsome but less expressive, less joyful and innocent. It will not bring back what was lost, merely overwrite it with a power that in time will be far greater.
*Without extensive mitigation, those possessing the Affliction of Slumber cannot benefit from this.
[ ] Forebear's Blade - Unshattered. Turn your afflictions into strength. Your body is maimed, your blade broken; that does not mean you yourself are less than whole. Let the Broken Blade be the new complete form of the Forebear's weapon, a symbol of his dynasty shattered by your hand. Let your wounds be the battle-standard, tapestry of the sacrifices your journey demanded of you, forevermore a reminder of victory's cost. [3 picks]
*Helps the hero move on psychologically without reducing the relevance of his companions' sacrifices or his drive for vengeance.
*Massively increases your power level to about three-fourths of the hero's apex. [+Rank]
*Not his power three-fourths of the way through his journey, but three-fourths of the total strength at his height (not accounting for sacrificial techniques). It could take years to reach this level again.
*Power enough to bring ruin to high lords and kings with a single malediction, rout armies with a single strike, overwhelm and dismember horrid beasts out of myth. The cut of your blade is the end of sorcery; cities that oppose you are reduced to rubble, fortresses to ash. You outrace the thunderclap, or your words drown it out; stand against the flood or hurricane, and by sheer majesty of spirit turn them aside.
*Slows Accretion growth in the future as you cease to benefit from recovery boost. Further expends the To Shatter Heaven effect of the King's Scepter.
*You will remain forever maimed, and your blade forever broken, reducing its reach. In time you can develop capabilities to substitute for what you have lost.
*You're pretty sure the humanoid abomination is in a weakened state and its full power is vastly greater than even this.
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