Discount Dan

Although regular health elixirs could heal even the most debilitating physical injuries, they did shit-all to fix aliments or long-term afflictions from Mana-based attacks. I’d learned that lesson on the second floor after contracting Sludge Lung. Jakob always traveled with a small pharmacy of advanced elixirs and curatives, but he was currently contending against another of the Silent-But-Deadly Assassins, and he wasn’t faring much better than I had.

His bazooka was nowhere to be seen and he’d resorted to a melee brawl with the gaseous killer. His regular kite shield had no effect against the monster, but his plasma shield seemed to be able to keep it at bay. At least for now. I was sure the Cendral would win the fight eventually, but he wasn’t in a position to help me at the moment.

As for the Shart Golem, it was still on its feet, and hardly looking any worse for wear. Croc and Synthia 2.0 were working together to whittle down its health, but the process was slow and the creature’s HP was still sitting above sixty percent. The hulking monster fought with its fists and feet, delivering devastating blows that smashed through washing machines and left craters in the concrete.

I needed medicine, but that could wait.

Though painful and debilitating, the Toxic Shock Affliction wasn’t lethal. Not yet, anyway. I had fifteen minutes until the next round of symptoms kicked in. That should be more than enough time to finish the golem, especially since my gut told me that the monster would also be susceptible to my Sterilization Field.

There was just one little problem.

I needed to get close enough to the creature to activate the spell and my legs didn’t seem to be working…

Like, at all.

Although I could bend my knees and flex my muscles, every time I tried to get back to my feet, my legs just gave out and flatly refused to hold my weight. I ground my teeth in frustration. That had to be the crippling muscle weakness effect at work, and I didn’t have anything tucked away in my personal storage that could help.

Assuming I made it out of this alive, I planned to rectify that oversight. I had an entire pharmacy lab just sitting there, unused, and in Jakob I had access to a chemist who could make advanced elixirs capable of removing disease and curing even the nastiest afflictions. Those elixirs were far harder to get a hold of than the standard Health and Mana variety and I planned to put the Cendral to work the second we made it back. Or, barring that, have him show me how to make some of the disease curing salves.

Before I could do that, though, I needed to kill the golem.

Since my legs wanted to be a couple of little bitches and there was no one close enough to lend me a hand, I’d have to do this the hard way. With a grimace of pain, I flipped onto my belly and began to pull myself across the floor toward the monster. The golem was only sixty feet away, but the bigger issue was that there were a bunch of washing machines in my way. Even the most determined, hard-charging Marine couldn’t low crawl over rows and rows of industrial washing machines.

Maybe I could go through ’em, though.

It was an enormous risk, because if I didn’t time it right, there was a very real possibility that I would get stuck inside one of the machines, which was exactly as horrific as it sounded. If I did nothing, however, there was a good chance I would die anyway. I’d much rather take fate into my own hands, than leave it in someone else’s.

As I came to the edge of the first washing machine, I activated Neural Slip Stream and the world slowed down around me as ice washed through my veins. I only had a handful of seconds, but as time stretched thin none of that seemed to matter. I pushed through the horrendous pain of my injuries and used every ounce of my heightened Athleticism to drag my body with its useless legs across the cold concrete.

I phased through the first row of washing machines, then adjusted my angle, and crawled through a second and third row in quick succession, swiftly narrowing the distance between me and the monstrous golem. Sweat poured down my face and my arms quivered from the effort. A wave of nausea rolled through me, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Refused to stop. I was not going to die in some stupid laundromat on the Fifth Floor.

I had too much to do and there were too many people counting on me.

Who would feed Croc Froyo? Or make sure that the cockwomble, known as the Flayed Monarch, got some well-deserved karma? Plus, if a super skid-marked killed me, I’d never live it down. Like Icarus, I’d forever be the guy who flow too close to the sun and burned for it—expect, in my case, instead of the sun it would be a sentient ball of dirty tighty-whities.

That was just unacceptable.

With a heave, I pulled my feet free of a rusted out washing machine just as Neural Slip Stream timed out and my body phased back into material existence. I was still thirty feet away from the monster, but now there was nothing other than a field of debris and loose machine parts barring my way. I pulled several more Firebomb balls from storage and sent the flying with my mind—lighting the son of a bitch up at a distance as I continued to inch forward, one hand at a time.

Bits of broken glass and chunks of twisted metal dug into my arms and legs and chest, opening up fresh wounds with every new foot of ground I covered. Still, I kept moving, hurling Firebombs and Fault Spike grenades at the creature using Mental Micromanagement until I ran dry of both. Some of the earthen spikes punched holes clean through the creature’s fabric torso while others peppered its body, making the monster look like a giant, walking pincushion.

The whole while, the Golem burned, and its health finally dropped below fifty-percent for the first time.

Despite the pain, I smiled.

My victory was short lived, however.

With a floor-shaking bellow, the golem raised a hand and let loose a writhing black ball from one oversized palm. The orb shot toward Synthia. The Horror tried to dodge the incoming attack, but the black ball swerved mid-air then circled around and sideswiped her like Mac Truck. The writhing orb burst apart on impact and ten thousand tiny black specks swarmed my minion.

They were flies, I realized in horror.

Hungry, carnivorous flies.

Temperance had a similarly disgusting Relic called Ball of Spiders, which—as the name heavily implied—let her hurl a ball of spiders at her enemies. I wasn’t scared of much, but the idea of ten thousand angry bugs scurrying across my bare skin was grade-A nightmare fuel. The conjured flies started dropping dead a second or two later, but their grisly work was already done. A heap of insect corpses formed around Synthia, but they’d stripped the meat and fur from her metallic frame.

Temperance’s spiders only dealt a minute amount of poison damage, while these things were as ravenous as a pack of hungry piranha.

Synthia’s HP had dipped below ten-percent but she was still, miraculously, on her feet, even though at this point she resembled a badly damaged furry terminator robot. She would fight to the bitter end, but if I let the golem kill her, putting her back together would take substantially more time and effort. Plus, it would cost me another Relic. As with my Cannon Fodder Minions, it wasn’t my Mana that powered the Taxidermied Horrors, but a Relic. And the more powerful the better.

Every time they perished, the Relic powering their core was destroyed and needed to be replaced before the Horror could be called upon once again. That was why—even though it pained me to do it—I recalled her just like I’d done with Drumbo, removing another valuable pawn from the game board.

In a fit of rage, the golem spun and hurled another fly ball, this one aimed at Croc—

The attack never landed.

Jakob shot into view and summoned a swirling black vortex about the size of a manhole cover. The spell hung, unsupported in the air, strobing steadily with waves of black and purple light. The ball of carnivorous flies immediately veered off course, pulled into the miniature black hole, where it promptly disappeared. That was Jakob’s Gravity Well Relic at work, which literally hoovered up all ranged attacks in its Area of Effect like a magical Shop Vac.

A very handy spell.

There was no sign of the other Silent-but-Deadly Assassin, which meant Jakob had killed the creature, and now he was doing his job as the party tank. The Cendral darted forward, surrounded in a nimbus of golden light, and as he moved the blare of a siren emanated from his chest, ber-ber-ber-ber-ber. It sounded like a broken smoke detector being amplified through a bullhorn. The Relic’s sole purpose was to draw aggro and hold the attention of hostile Dwellers, and boy-oh-boy did it work well.

The golem spun toward the approaching Cendral, but instead of immediately attacking, the creature threw its misshapen head back and roared once again. This time, a geyser of sludgy brown liquid blasted up into the air like Old Faithful. All I could do was lay there, face down on the floor, completely unable to stand as a tsunami of liquid shit hit the ground and surged toward me. I was starting to wish I’d just let the fart assassin finish the job and save me from the indignity of drowning in the equivalent of a hot porta john.

Seconds before the poo-nami washed over me, however, a trio of fleshy pinky tentacles hoisted me from the floor and pulled me up to the top of a nearby washing machine.

“Don’t worry, Dan,” Croc said, cradling me like a newborn kitten, which did not in any way help my dwindling self-esteem. “I’ve got ya!”

“My legs aren’t working,” I grunted. At this point, even talking hurt.

“Do you need an elixir?” Croc asked, “because I’ve got plenty of those stored inside my chest cavity if you need one.”

“Won’t work,” I mumbled through clenched teeth. Also, I hated that Croc stored things inside its ‘chest cavity,’ though I kept that opinion to myself. “Poison.” I stole a look at the golem. “Get me closer,” I wheezed. “Need to be in melee range.”

“Say no more, Dan.” Croc pressed me tight against its rubbery belly and tendrils of blue crept over me, forming a giant Baby Bjorn made of flesh. My useless legs dangled down, hanging several feet above the floor, though the impromptu baby holster didn’t restrict my arms which was nice.

Croc took three steps, then leapt from the top of the washing machine and hit the ground running. The metaphorical mudslide had receded, but the floor was still slick, and every footfall sent up a disgusting little splash of unspeakable liquid. I really hoped those Brownies were miracle workers or I was never going to be able to get the stink out.

The golem was entirely focused on Jakob, but Croc still angled right, circling around until we were in the creature’s blind spot.

As soon as we were in range, I activated Sterilization Field again, conjuring a dome of blazing blue-white light that encompassed the monster. The spell’s effect went to work instantly. The magic ball of flies forming in the golem’s hand fizzled and simply winked out of existence, but that wasn’t all the spell did. My guess about the golem was right. The Mana holding the monster together began to unravel and as it did, soiled tighty whities and brown-streaked boxer briefs rained down en masse.

The creature howled and desperately tried to get clear of the dome.

It didn’t get far.

Glowing tendrils of multicolored light erupted from the floor and emerged from the air itself, wrapping around the monster’s arms and legs, neck and torso. Mooring it in place. I’d only seen Jakob use this particular ability a handful of times—mostly because it was extremely mana intensive and Cendrals, as a race, had famously low Mana Reserves and even worse Mana Regeneration. Still, it was badass to watch in action.

Quantum Entanglement was a powerful crowd control ability that conjured unbreakable cables of quantum string, capable of rooting enemy targets in place.

Although the root spell wouldn’t last long, the golem was losing HP like the Titanic taking on water. The monster was literally falling apart, and its health was already down below twenty percent. Time to finish the job. Although I was out of Runic Grenades, I still had Mana to burn, so I raised one hand and activated Pressure Washer, zigzagging the beam across the monster’s chest and face.

The golem let out one more frustrated roar as its health hit zero and then, in an eyeblink, it simply crumbled, the magic animating its body bled dry by the Sterilization Field.

[Level Up! x 1]

Research Achievement Unlocked!

Profane Purifier

Are you proud of yourself? Because you shouldn’t be.

I mean, sure, you won, but at what cost? Your dignity, that’s what. Still, I’ll hand it to you, when the going got rough, you rolled up your sleeves and just… dove right in there. That's either incredibly brave or you've got some weird fetishes we don't want to explore. Anyway, just remember, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Or gives you dysentery. I can’t remember which. Both, it’s probably both.

Reward: 750 Experience Points, 5 Copper Delver Loot Tokens, 1 Silver Medic! Loot Token, 1 x Gold Septic Loot Token

Title: Profane Purifier – 20% Disease Resistance because, after this, what germs would dare to touch you?

Notice: You have earned 11 Titles! You may only have 10 Active Titles Equipped at any given time. Visit the nearest Progenitor Monolith to curate your titles, via the Title Tab located in your Specimen Bio-Report (SBR).

As I waved away the notifications, all that remained of the golem was a mountainous pile of dirty laundry.

Fitting.

With the golem finally dead and the threat eliminated, Jakob wasted no time in breaking out his advanced first aid kit and taking care of my Toxic Shock Affliction. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite quick enough to cure me before the next Stage took hold.

Toxic Shock Syndrome has metastasized, and new symptoms have evolved.

Stage 3: Delirium, rapid onset anxiety disorder and broadscale hallucinations. Grit and Perception are reduced by 25% and the user is 50% more susceptible to psionic attacks and psychic influences.

Stage 4: Countdown until additional onset symptoms 29:59

The psychedelic effects kicked in at once, and suddenly it was no longer Jakob standing over me. Instead, it was an enormous, fire-breathing cyberpunk dragon wearing a red pleather jacket and vintage wraparound sunglasses. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Croc, who now stood eighty feet tall and most closely resembled an Eldritch Voltron Robot made of writhing tentacles and unblinking googly eyes.

Just another Tuesday in the Backrooms.

After rubbing a weird lotion on the sight of the knife wound and force-feeding me a putrid concoction that tasted like burnt rubber, the god-awful affliction vanished, taking the host of terrible aftereffects with it.

Thank sweet baby Jesus for small miracles.

With my affliction cured, all that was left to do was loot the corpses—a task no one was overly keen about—then deal with the Brownies, still hiding away in their tiny laundromat kingdom. Considering what I’d just endured, however, that didn’t seem so bad anymore. Say what you will, but low crawling across broken glass while fitting a sentient turd certainly has a way of offering a little perspective.

It felt like I’d finally hit rock bottom, which meant the only way to go from here was up.