The Fool's Freedom

The clash started without much forewarning. Master Wilbis seemed like he was on the verge of exploding himself and his hands danced like the hands of a mad conductor as he rained fire upon the hooded figure before him. Alan hadn’t imagined the talkative go-lucky gnome had that in him.

Small, big, red, yellow, and even the occasional blue one. Alan watched the fireworks show transfixed and wished he had such long-range abilities. Shadow didn’t seem to be the most destructive of elements one could wield, but at least he had his will that was great at breaking down things. And it’s not like he had to stick to one thing forever, right? He could diversify. The thought alone made the wisps around him swirl strangely.

The outpost master’s enemy became obscured by smoke and flames, but as they dissipated the figure could be seen unhurt. It was a woman, almost human. Her features were strangely twisted. As if everything was just slightly wrong – enough to give one a very terrible case of the uncanny valley effect. It made Alan uncomfortable to look at her even from afar. Her robe was gone, and her two hands were laid out in front of her. Gleaming bracers covered her forearms and a barrier shimmered around her, unbroken by Wilbis’s efforts.

She burst laughing before lunging at him; it sounded more like the screech of a bird of prey than actual laughter. Barriers shimmered again around her and she wielded them as weapons and tried to catch the flying outpost master. Like trying to swat a fly, almost. He was faster than her, but it didn’t seem to matter as his explosions did little to slow her down.

“Should we help?” Alan asked. He was dying to fight, but Xil’s reaction had put a damper on his enthusiasm. The demon had never advised him to run. Xil loved slaughter and fighting and had mocked Alan many times.

Zirida remained silent. Her aura was growing stronger and stronger, but soon Alan stopped sensing it. As if it had become compressed, pulled in.

“What got you scared?” he asked in his mind.

“There’s another strong one. Behind the dragon. As strong as the one that thing fighting the gnome. But that’s not the issue… it’s the one with the blank mask. I don’t know if they’re strong or weak, but you shouldn’t mess with them. There’s something… demonic.”

“A friend?”

“Doubt it. Something tells me we demons are not big on friendship with one another. And that’s not a demon, trust me.”

Not a demon but there was something demonic about the person. That got Alan’s attention. He was certain there was a familiarity to the figure, but he couldn’t quite understand it. Was it his heritage? A shadowless, or someone using a skill or an item belonging to one? No. It was not the presence, or lack thereof that was invoking the feeling. It was the mask. The mummified jaw.

Have we met? That’s impossible.

A cacophony of skills made the air tremble as the battle between the other hooded figures and the guards began. There were screams and death as no one held back.

Byrr tapped Alan on the shoulder, before moving toward the front line. The large man was covered in a green barrier and his weapon seemed to grow larger. Feyrith was quietly muttering as small portals appeared around him letting out weird insectoid creatures. There were three of them so far, and they were ugly.

“Here goes nothing,” the elf said. “Don’t die.”

He joined his companion while Alan watched their backs. He was going to fight, but something about Zirida’s behavior held him back from rushing in. She was still silently observing.

“Master Wilbis won’t lose, as long as that’s the only tier two around,” she suddenly said.

“Will he win?”

“Probably not.”

“We going?”

“We need to be fast. If not, we wait for Kaly.”

“I understand.” I’m faster than I’ve ever been.

The two of them silently rushed forward. Alan gave the [Red Cleric] one last look and headed for the side of the battlefield. The best thing he could do was utilize his speed and his newly gained control skills. It was not honorable, but who cared about that? He would fix whatever was broken, he would help and backstab, and he would act like an assassin would. This was about victory, and as much as he wished for exciting fights and triumphs that made him feel alive and allowed him to grow, it was not the time for it.

He didn’t feel bad. It was just what he was good at right now, so that’s what he would do. If he had learned anything from the ordeal with the Bone Lord, it was that the result justified the means. The brief thought of the pain made him flinch. The agony was still fresh, and it took little to remember what it had felt like and how helpless he had been. It made him angry, but the anger seemed to only fuel his calmness. He had no stake in this fight, but he was here, and he would fight, even if only to see a dragon up close. Not dying was pretty cool too.

“Let’s go,” he whispered to himself, and the shadows around him churned before coming closer to his skin as if understanding their assignment. He felt his mind attribute take over and shoot out like a dark blur. He moved to the side, rather than follow Zirida who was aiming to be in the midst of it. He was not like her. Not yet.

“You should run.”

“I won’t.”

“We’ll both lose big. You will probably die, and I’ll have to brainwash another worthless servant.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“Fool.”

Alan grinned. The first victim was a muscled man with the same twisted features as the woman in the sky. He was locked in combat with a sword-wielding guardswoman who seemed to be losing out big. Illusory arms would appear to block her attacks while raining blows on her from many sides.

This looks fun. Alan paused only for a moment before he slashed with his dagger coated in swirling darkness. The shadow blade arrived at the man at the same time Alan did. To his credit, the enemy reacted fast. Another set of arms appeared to block both the shadow slash and the dagger coming for him.

Alan was, however, not the same as he had been even hours ago. His attributes had shot up, and so had his confidence. Both attacks seemed to shatter the magic hands to the surprise of the man. He only managed to swivel to the side before the dagger sank into his chest while the shadow blade obliterated his back and part of his head. It only stopped when it met with Alan’s [Monochrome Armor].

You have slain: Skinwalker [Bruiser] (81)

Oh? That brings back memories… I was an asshole back then. Not as big of an ass as I am now though. [Bruisers] sure do have interesting skills.

“T-Thanks,” the guardswoman managed. She was panting and there were chippings in her sword.

“No worries,” Alan smiled. Shadows of smoke left his mouth as he spoke as if he had just inhaled from a lit cigar. It was a bit much, but he didn’t mind. Some edgy flair never hurt anybody.

She tried to say something else but he was already gone, leaving her behind. Two of the robed figures were dancing nearby, flames shooting out of their hands at a bunch of guards who only erected flimsy barriers and returned with weak ranged skills that did nothing. Fireballs and what looked to be lances bathed the group of guards in flames.

They didn’t even sense him. And when they did it was too late. The dagger plunged deep without much resistance. He had stabbed at the heart, or where he supposed it should have been. A sense of danger washed over him. It was not [Mortal Peril] but rather the thin shadows around him and their whispers. They were warning him.

He moved back just in time as the figure burst into flames. When the robe was gone he saw yet another person with twisted features. Did all skinwalkers share this characteristic? He didn’t know much about them, only that Byrr and Feyrith held no kind feelings for the creatures.

The flames died down and the man turned toward him while the woman kept bombarding the group of guards. He snarled and a fireball shot out at Alan, then in a burst of motion, the skinwalker was next to him with a flaming hand.

A mistake.

Shadows wrapped around him as Alan’s armor twisted and turned into tendrils that grabbed at the skinwalker’s limbs and held him down. It was much harder to do than using any level of [Chains of the Dark Servants], but it was also cheaper and less mana-intense. And faster. Just tiny obstructions.

The dark hands grabbing at the skinwalker were washed away by flames, but more and more kept interrupting his movements. He snarled in annoyance and opened his mouth. Alan saw a small fireball form above the man's tongue and felt the intense heat.

It didn’t matter.

The charged shadow blade that tore through the skinwalker left barely anything of his body intact. It was as if a wide strip had been cut straight through the middle of his body, leaving only the left and the right side. Strange organs and blood fell apart on the ground.

You have slain: Skinwalker [Fireshot] (89)

Level up!

You have reached level 88 in [Warlock]!

+ 3 Attribute Points

+ 1 Mind, Will, and Magic

The woman turned in shock as she felt her companion die and was greeted by an explosion of shadows right in her face. It startled her more than anything else. She frowned, and after looking over herself moved to retreat.

“The fuck was that?” Xil asked. The demon kept mostly quiet in the middle of fights, but he seemed to have reached a limit.

“I tried something. Everyone’s exploding stuff.”

“Right.”

Alan caught up easily. She seemed to have the same skillset as the man. They had been quite adept at closing any holes between the casts of their similar skills and creating a constant barrage of fire that had stopped the weaker guards. Alan’s speed alone was enough to deal with that when he knew what he was expecting.

Soon she was a headless body as another charged [Shadow Slash] crashed into her.

You have slain: Skinwalker [Fireshot] (85)

“Is it me or has everyone grown weaker?”

“It’s you, idiot. How dense can you be?!”

The attributes are only a part of it. I feel more in tune with my own body and skills, especially the shadow ones. I wonder how far I can go…

He didn’t wait for the guards to thank him before he was off. Seconds later [Mortal Peril] sang along with [First Pathfinder] and Alan stepped to the side in a blur as something crashed right where he had stood. It was a smaller person, another skinwalker if he had to guess.

“What’s an [Assassin] like you doing here, hmm? Where do you hail from, and how much were you paid?” the person asked. The voice was strange, and it was difficult to say whether it was a male’s or a female's. Their face was wrapped in bandages under the hood, leaving only a pair of inhuman eyes.

“This one’s strong.”

Alan didn’t respond. He felt it too. Anyone using any sort of spatial skills was strong. “I’m not an assassin,” he said with a smile.

“Bullshit. Doesn’t matter, I’ll know when I kill you. Be ready, I’m coming!” the person said.

Alan nodded. His second dagger appeared in his hand and shadows coated it again.

The person moved clumsily, making Alan's mind scramble to make sense of it all. The shadows whispered even before his extra senses sang once again. In fact, [First Pathfinder] hadn’t stopped the whole time.

There was no one in front of him anymore. Fuck. Something crashed in his side but was stopped by the armor of flowing darkness that appeared right on time. Alan felt it grow weaker, but he had plenty of mana, and it wasn’t even broken. The attack had been oddly… light.

“What’s the matter?” the person asked again. Alan snapped to attention. They were in front of him, just where he remembered. Thin blades in hands and a smirk in the two gleaming eyes.

“Trickery! Illusions!” Xil said.

Ah. Makes sense. Doesn’t explain the spatial component.

Alan didn’t respond and sent a half-assed shadow blade toward the person who dodged clumsily.

Again, the shadows whispered, and again something hit his armor before he could react. This time it came from the back. If that was the person’s full strength, then there was nothing to worry about. However, Alan didn’t believe it would be. This was just a test. Another trick.

He burst into motion and ran straight into the fake person. They fell back and exclaimed in shock, only to melt away as he swung through it.

“You missed,” the voice came from behind – from where he had just stood.

Just as he turned, something heavy and dangerous hit his armor aiming for the nape of his neck. The force was strong and the shadows fell apart trying to contain it. They managed, thankfully. Alan took a step to balance himself before throwing himself to the side once again. His head had grown a bit dizzy. All of his senses and Xil’s voice were telling him different things.

[First Pathfinder] was warning him of spatial issues in the front and to the side, while the shadows were whispering everchanging warnings about everything. Not words, as much as feelings and hints. They were the easiest to decipher and he trusted them above all.

Xil was just yelling obscenities while giving directions. As much as Zirida had emphasized that they needed to end everything quickly, Alan saw no way of that happening at the moment.

“Shut up, I got it!” Alan spat.

“What?” the person asked, tilting their head in confusion just as another attack landed on Alan’s armor. He had a lot of mana, but he couldn’t just recharge the armor forever. No attack as strong as that targeted at the nape of his neck had come again.

“Wasn’t talking to you,” he snarled and sent a random blade toward one of the places the shadows warned him about. It crashed harmlessly into the ground.

“Who were you talking to then? It’s only us.” The voice came from his left now. There were two of them!

Alan managed to block in time, turning his dagger into a solid shield of darkness. His arm tingled from the power behind the attack and he almost fell on one knee. It had been just another test. He didn’t have the strength to block like that!

Now this is fun. Alan grinned and the shadows around him swirled faster. “I was talking to the voices. You see, they want a piece of you… but you’re all mine.”

He became only a blur as he started raining attacks everywhere, trying to keep up with the whispers and his senses.