Misadventures Incorporated

Chapter 360 - The Stifled Sword IV

The world changed as Claire assumed her true form. She didn’t know why, but the meadow twisted and turned, swirling into a mess of matter whose shape was slow to settle. It started by cycling through all the things she wanted to reject. Her father’s office. The ritual chamber. The alley with the statue. But all that crumbled as quickly as it formed, giving way to a space atop a familiar, snowy mountain.

It was like they were in her realm. Even though she hadn’t cast it and even though its effects were moot.

But while the frozen summit’s advent had called for the meadow’s destruction, the newer environment was not nearly as infinite. The space around it gave way to something different, a massive cave with which she was only vaguely familiar.

She needed a second to recognize it, to dredge it up from within the corner of her mind in which everything useless was stashed. It was a memory she had obtained when she stole Headhydra’s essence. The lizard’s realm was larger than hers and it somehow contained everything but the sky within. The colliding worlds were clearly distinct. The stars lit the snowy peak, but their influence failed to extend beyond it. The distant, mossy walls that locked her in the realm remained unlit; they were visible only because of her ability to see right through the dark.

Though curious, Claire was given no opportunity to analyze the world in detail. The battle resumed immediately; Headhydra charged at her in much the same way that she had before. Clad in divinity powerful enough to shake the mountain with every heavy step.

When Claire tried to meet the attack, she found that her divinity flowed better than expected. It was much purer than she recalled; the reds and golds were much brighter. But it wasn’t without a cost. The aching was worse. Everything hurt more, and it almost felt like her aura was weighing her down.

She couldn't stop the hydra from striking her. She moved her arm to parry the incoming attack, but it was too slow to obey her commands. The extended neck crashed into the side of her body and gouged her flesh with its teeth.

The world shrank. The mountain groaned as the distant walls shifted closer and crushed its sides together.

“I forgot to mention,” said the phantom.

She barely had the bandwidth to pay attention to his words. She was too busy warding off another bite. Having matched the lizard monster’s height, she was no longer so small that the predator was unable to deliver a chain of attacks. There wasn’t much of a point in listening to him to begin with. Neither of his points had worked in her favour.

“This might be a dream, but that doesn’t mean you’re immortal,” he said, nonchalantly. “Any damage you take will be reflected upon your naked soul.” He summoned her status screen with a wave of the hand and showed off a set of familiar numbers. “If your health hits zero, then your life will immediately be forfeit.”

Claire scoffed. She couldn’t be bothered to consider the empty threat. He knew how she felt, and he had only made the claim in hopes of grabbing her focus.

She lashed out with her claw and grabbed the head buried in her side. Coated in just as much divinity as the hydra’s scales, her talons dug through the soft protectors and met the hydra’s bones. She was surprised to find that they were made of all the same material as hers, but it didn’t matter. She drained the divinity within and crushed the almost serpentine skull. Somehow, it was soothing. The divinity that she stole felt better than the divinity already flowing through her veins.

Not because of its purity.

But because of its corruption.

It only then occurred to her that she had never tried it, that she had only ever assumed that gold was safer than red, and that the downsides of using the former would certainly apply to the more difficult latter. The conclusion had seemed so obvious, but in hindsight, also not. Even before her ascension, she had been told that she was more compatible with one than the other.

She made the switch in a heartbeat.

She didn’t care for the phantom’s nagging. It was purely an act of rebellion.

It was like the world itself arranged for her to be shot down after every major win. The frog had crushed her when she first found her freedom. The bird had torched her in spite of her second ascension. And now some measly upstart who had hardly spent a few weeks as nobility had crushed her underfoot, right after she had defeated a set of literal gods.

She was sick of losing, sick of being punched down each time she renewed her confidence. That was why she had challenged them in the first place. She had gone as far as swallowing her pride and asking her father for his advice. As far as she could recall, it was the first time her results had ever left him dumbstruck. It was the greatest win she could have possibly asked for.

And yet, the outcome was unchanged.

She still lost. Even with his unofficial stamp of approval. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to find a clever way to defeat the deer and crush him underfoot. That was what she had planned, expected, and needed. But it never happened. Neither her mind nor her body had worked quickly enough to overcome the man and his machinations. It was a horrible failure, the likes of which she could never afford again.

Pollux’s champions were weaklings. In the grand scheme of things, they could never measure up to the powerhouses sure to enter the competition. If she couldn’t beat them, then she may as well give up on her father altogether.

She needed more power. But power was hardly the only problem. She was strong enough to kill Porcius. That much, she had known, not only from her gut but their initial encounter. His speed had certainly saved him, but she had come close to ending him in a single blow the moment their paths first crossed.

Her failure had stemmed from the inability to play her own cards. Her whole approach was wrong, thrown off in part because she had been sucked right into his rhythm, because she had let her enemy dictate the pace of the battle. Her inability to leverage her divinity was still a problem, but it didn’t address the core issue that was her lack of adaptability. Applying divinity, applying her brute strength more correctly, would only lead to the same problem again as soon as she was overpowered.

The real issue was her approach to combat. And tying a name to the fault made everything clear up.

Her mistake was allowing her enemies to execute their strategies without applying her own. She never found a way to force them into a situation where her supposed petty tricks could shine their brightest, despite their absurd flexibility.

The exact same mistake that the phantom had led her to make again.

Only haphazardly deflecting the hydra’s blows, she put her mind to work. She twisted its gears and turned its cogs in search of something beyond the phantom’s path. Something that transcended Vella’s gift. Something that she could call her own.

___

Sylvia escaped Claire’s grasp almost as soon as the lyrkress fell asleep. After taking a few moments to shove the moose under the blanket and a few more to do it again when her length spiked to ten meters, the fox slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

She climbed on top of the Boris waiting by the door and lightly tapped him on the side. He lumbered over to the stairs, carefully manipulating his weight as he descended each step, before passing through the living room and entering the dining space. There were another three Borises present within the space, with two of them fumbling around in the kitchen for something to eat and the last basking on the table as the sunlight streamed in.

Lana was playing with the lizard that lay on the table; the two were locked in a silent staring contest that neither was willing to yield. The brigade’s remaining members were not quite as high energy. Starrgort was peeking over the table’s edge while Krail was resting with his face in his hands and his staff against the table.

“Claire’s gonna nap for a bit,” said Syliva.

“I was thinking that I might do the same, but it’d probably be better if we worked out a plan first, assuming we’re going to bother doing anything at all.” Krail turned his eyes to the fox with a tired sigh. “Honestly, they beat us so badly I’m starting to think that this whole journey is a waste of effort. It reminds me of that time my old buddies and I tried to challenge some local god or other.”

“How’d that go?” said Sylvia.

“I was the only one to make it out alive,” said the elf.

Sylvia lowered her head. She wasn’t sure how to reply.

“We might be okay,” said Lana. “The quest hasn’t failed.”

“Oh right!” The fox perked up. “Griselda’s supposed to be good at guiding people to places, and this whole thing is all part of one of her plans, I think?”

Krail scoffed. “Always the imaginary gods with you lot. We don’t even know if they’re still alive in the first place. Attacking the stronghold would probably just get us killed.”

“Mmmnnn, the tracker thingy I have on Ciel is saying she’s fine,” said Sylvia. “Oh, and Claire’s given me the okay to go all out and stuff, so we’ll probably be fine.”

“Right. That reminds me.” Krail turned his eyes on the fox with his bright green. “You’re not level twenty.” That was what the skill had returned. It reported that she was a level twenty-six woodfox with a level forty bard class. Evaluating her mana returned a similar result. She only had a little bit, perhaps around a thousand points, as one would expect from a critter with her particular distribution.

“Uhmnm… I er… yeah, not exactly.” Sylvia awkwardly laughed off the accusation and scratched the back of her head.

“How are you fiddling with the skill’s results? Do you have an accessory hidden under your fur or something? It doesn’t look like you’re wearing anything capable of interfering, or really anything at all for that matter.”

Sylvia averted her eyes. “Well uhmmm…” She quickly scanned the pair’s minds and confirmed that they didn’t seem hostile. “I’m kind of an aspect. So uhmm… it’s pretty easy.”

The elf cocked a brow. “That still doesn’t make much sense. It would if you were an elf, but you clearly aren’t.”

“Right, so about that... I kinda am.”

“Are you a druid then? Are you just undoing your transformation in the girls’ tent or something?” He looked at Lana, who only shook her head.

“No, uhm. My dad was an elf,” said Sylvia. “So I’m technically a half-elf.”

Krail didn’t react much at first, but his face slowly started to twist in horror as he swept his eyes across her form again. “A-and what was your mother?” he stuttered.

“A fox, duh,” said Sylvia.

“R-right. Of course. Must’ve been one of those stupid fucking Blackroots.” He moved a hand to his brow and slowly shook his head. Not even taking deep breaths was enough to calm him down completely. He did eventually regain the ability to converse, but his voice remained shaky, even as he set his hands back down on the table. “What were we talking about again? Before all of… this.”

“Uhmmmm…” Sylvia paused for a second to think.

“Attacking the warship,” said Lana.

“Oh yeah, right! I think I can pretty much do most of it myself. We just need to sneak on board, save everyone, and then blow up all the ships, right?”

“Then why don’t you?” asked Krail. “It’d be better to get it done sooner than later, wouldn’t it?”

“I want to, but I think Claire had something specific in mind already, so I’m gonna wait for her to wake up first.”

“Why the hell would you do that!?” grumbled the elf. “The longer we sit around, the more likely it is for something to happen. It’d be safer just to get them up and out as quickly as possible.”

“Mmmnnn… I get what you’re saying, but I kinda don’t care,” said Sylvia, nonchalantly. “They’re probably not gonna do anything to Ciel, and I kinda don’t really care about anyone else. Plus, Sophia’s already dead anyway.”

“What do you mean she’s dead!?” Krail furrowed his brow. “Wait, what the fuck do you mean you don’t care!?”

“Shhhh!” Sylvia pressed her paws against the bottom of his jaw and manually shut his mouth. “Be quiet. You’re gonna wake Claire up!”

The elf tried to speak again, but she quickly captured his face inside a bubble and prevented any noise from leaking. The confused mage grabbed the sphere, but it refused to budge even as he channelled his magic through its mass. Sylvia, in the meantime, lightly patted her paws together, as if to shake the dust off of them, before puffing up her tail and returning to her side of the table.

“Anyway, anyway, I’m pretty sure I saw some guy totally crush the crap out of Sophia, and she wasn’t regenerating anymore after, so she’s probably dead. And when I said I don’t care, I pretty much meant it.”

“I thought you liked Chloe,” said Lana, with a blink.

“Kinda, but she’s been super annoying ever since she ascended.” Sylvia raised a paw to her chin and sank into thought. She had liked the old Chloe a fair bit but she had recently started getting on her nerves. She was acting too much like Alfred for the fox’s comfort, most likely because of their continued cultural exchange.

One silly pervert was already more than enough. She didn’t need a second.

“She’s been nice to me,” said Lana.

“That’s probably just ‘cause she feels bad for you,” said Sylvia, with her eyes on the wolf girl’s missing chest. “Anyway, we should probably get something to eat before we get back to planning. We probably want to wait for Claire anyw—”

Suddenly freezing, the fox spun around, just in time to see Panda as he dashed into the room. He was out of breath; his chest was heaving so heavily that he was incapable of speech, only stuttering out a series of incoherent noises as he collapsed into a pile just outside the door. It was not just his swagger that was removed. One of his legs was missing, chopped off at the knee and bleeding full force. More blood had left his body and stained the imaginary house than could have existed within his tiny frame.

“Uhmmm… hi,” said Sylvia, with a blink.

He clenched his teeth and collapsed onto one of the walls. “The situation’s changed,” he said, between heavy breaths. “Turns out it ain’t Ephesus’ plan that’s got us by the clock. We’re knee-deep in shit.”

“Which one was Ephesus again?” Sylvia looked around the table, but Starrgort and Lana shook their heads, while Boris and Boris snacked on a plate and Boris continued staring at the wall. It was impossible to tell from his behaviour alone if he was meant to be part of the conversation.

Krail raised a hand, so she reluctantly undid his soundproof prison and allowed him to speak again. “I’ve never exactly been the best with names, you see,” said the elf. “And it isn’t like Claire’s really explained much to the rest of us. It probably would’ve been better if we’d squeezed it out of her in hindsight, bu—”

Another face bubble cut him off.

“Yeah, so uhmmm… none of us actually know who he is.”

Panda breathed half a sigh, stopping only to hack out a mouthful of blood. “Where’s the girl?”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Wake her up,” grunted the trash panda.

“No way,” said Sylvia. “She’s tired.”

“Just fucking do it,” he grunted. “Remember what I said about our time limit earlier? Well, that shit’s pretty much gone out the window. She needs to know that Porcius is even dumber than we thought.”

___

Arciel lightly tapped a fan against her chin as she turned her eyes to the ground far beneath her feet. She was positioned between two of the massive floating fortresses, in the midst of moving from one to another via the means of a magical platform. It may as well have been a flying carpet. It was a perfectly square tile, large enough to fit the prisoners, their guide, the guards, and maybe another thirty people.

So far, the tour had proven productive. They spent the whole afternoon walking around the premises, going from ship to ship and checking out the facilities therein. They hadn’t been granted permission to visit the bridge, but they were scheduled to meet the new marquis at the end of the day. Apparently, they would have a chance to speak over dinner.

As their requests to see many of the other more important facilities had also been denied, their adventure had effectively been at the cervitaur’s behest. He led them from place to place and illustrated the ridiculous scale at which the armada was conceived. And oh so truly ridiculous it was. They had everything from casinos and luxury resorts to sporting facilities and organic farms; the flying city offered the soldiers on board anything their hearts could have possibly desired.

“This next facility will be the last we visit before dinner tonight.”

The warden spoke as he disembarked from the floating platform. Their destination featured none of the manors or castles present everywhere else. Its main feature was a large stadium that covered most of the island’s surface area. The little space that remained was turned into something of a garden, the flowers in which served as embellishment for the arena’s exterior.

“Though this may not be obvious from the outside, The Pit, as we call it, is a cutting-edge colosseum constructed with all of the latest technologies in mind,” said the guide.

“What manner of technologies?” asked Arciel.

“Most of them are centred around small-scale terraforming,” said Balbus. “You will see momentarily.”

He led them through the foyer. Its design was impressive but not particularly outstanding; it looked almost identical to the colosseum that the previous Pollux had built in Vel’khagan. The only notable difference was that there were no seats at ground level. The closest ones were still a few meters up, likely to make room for the giant mechanical arms that sat by the arena’s edge.

“Seems pretty well made, but I ain’t seeing how it’s supposed to be cutting edge,” said Ace. “Those artifacts supposed to be for cleaning or something?”

“Not exactly.”

The warden smiled as he produced a device from his robe. Its circular shape and dial-based interface were reminiscent of that of a pocket watch. The edges were lined with a series of codenames—letter-number pairs impossible to interpret at a glance. The man began turning the spinner at the object’s center, a loud click accompanying each degree of movement. He pressed down on the center while he was done and initiated a surge of magic.

The arms buzzed to life. They rose into the air at fixed intervals and formed a massive barrier around the ring. They shifted gears once the barrier was complete and projected a series of illusion-based spells. Layer by layer, the once-empty arena was transformed into a jungle with a dense layer of moist soil at its base and even trees and animals skittering around within.

“This installation unfortunately does not have any ley lines to fuel it, so it can only perform basic transformations, but the device allows us to adapt the environment to better suit the fighters in question.” He pressed the button as the audience shared its impressions and turned the jungle into a desert, a field, and even a patch of sea. “But while all of these are certainly interesting and impressive, it is not them that I would like for you to see.”

With one final click, he changed the landscape again, a large town square with a wooden platform in the centre and a series of shops all around it.

“And what, precisely, is this?” asked Arciel.

“Well...” A dark smile crossed the warden’s lips. “These are your execution grounds. We will be returning here tonight after you’ve had your meeting with our… lord,” he said, matter-of-factly. “So that the men might watch as you are all beheaded.”