The Fool's Freedom

Emerson watched the carnage with a cold heart. He had doomed so many people to cruel death in the already cruel world. Why had he believed the lies whispered in his dreams and mind? Was he so stupid to trust random voices?

Or had the Hierophant of the Goddess used a trick to control him, to change him? No. Even if that was the case it was no excuse.

He had needed a direction. He needed a goal to strive toward in this new world where he had no one but himself. It had quickly become apparent that one's personal strength was the only thing that mattered.

Emerson had known that since the start, but still struggled to adapt. He didn’t like violence, and he never had, but this world was to be built on violence.

However, he understood that if humans were to prosper against the odds in this System-ruled world, they would need to abandon the teachings of the society they had grown into.

And many had embraced that fact fast. Most had, and those who failed to do so had died or gone the crafting route.

It had become easier to be violent and to murder in the name of something greater than himself. In the name of an actual existing God. It had been just a thing to do, for the greater good of all.

Alan had been the support he had latched on that very first day, and despite the distance between them, his presence had kept Emerson going. After Alan had gone… he had no one. The others weren’t the same. Only the divine voice had understood his troubles and his plea.

So foolish.

He watched the Hierophant shrug off tens of different attacks and kill tens of people. He watched the destruction and the army of spawn and felt nothing but numb regret.

Then, Emerson watched with bated breath as Alan fell into the clutches of the Hierophant, and felt relief when the one he considered a friend managed to escape.

Emerson ignored the ensuing fight and focused on the System message buzzing in his mind.

For violating the sanctity of souls in the name of a foreign god AND without permission, you will be punished. Such action is forbidden on the territory of the Realm of Myriad Worlds as per Decree 8372, issued by the Thelyra Dynasty, holder of the Second Throne, with the support of the Fourth, Sixth, and Seventh Thrones. You will be allowed to choose your punishment:

1. True Death.

2. Forced class change and mandatory service in the Fractal Battlefields until you have earned enough merit to be freed.

3. Removal of your class and levels and imprisonment in the Mortal Cage until such a time that you are considered absolved of your sins.

4. Giving your body and soul in eternal servitude to the Thrones for the good of the Universe.

Your punishment will go into force one hour after you make your choice.

Should you try to kill yourself or escape, you will be imprisoned by the Realm Laws to await judgment.

You cannot be killed during the one hour before your punishment goes into force.

It was… comprehensive. And the message had stirred his curiosity despite all that was happening around him and all he was responsible for. The information was overwhelming, to say the least, but despair and regret still gave way to curiosity.

It seemed that there were powers governing the universe. Or at least the part of the universe they were in. Powers that could influence the System. Or maybe it was another tool given by the System and those on top simply made use of it.

Emerson felt a strange urge to learn, to see the world outside of this damned forest. It was ironic he found this desire when it was already too late.

At least he was allowed to choose his final fate. Whoever those on the Thrones were, they were a merciful bunch.

Emerson did not want to die, despite the guilt. He did not want to simply give up, nor did he want to fall into the service of another.

He also wanted to right the wrong he had done, but that didn’t seem to be an option.

He was brought back to reality by a scream that sounded very familiar. He saw Alan, pierced through the abdomen by the Hierophant. Hadn’t he escaped?! Emerson stood up in shock.

Alan struggled, slashing in futility at the tendril piercing him. Was he about to die?

Emerson felt his anger rise and with a thought chose the only option that would allow him to help, even for a little bit.

And the option that would turn his life, if he survived this, into one of violence.

You have chosen:

2. Forced class change and mandatory service in the Fractal Battlefields until you have earned enough merit to be freed.

Time until departure: 59 minutes 59 seconds

Your class has been forcibly changed. [Novice Paladin] has become [Fallen Paladin].

Your skill has changed…

Your skill has changed…

You have learned a new skill…

You have earned a new Title.

You have earned a new Title.

Righteous fury was all that remained as Emerson activated his newest epic skill named [Anger of the Fallen]. He felt his body grow, his muscles strain.

There was no more faith in a higher power, only anger. The sense of purpose filling him was unlike anything before that.

[Armor of the Faithless] came next. Gray featureless plate armor materialized on top of his robe and fused with his skin. He could feel the soft breeze on its surface like it was a second skin.

Emerson rose and grabbed his mace from the ground. His new title of [Apostate] fueled his anger further, raising the bonuses he was given when he renounced his newfound faith.

[Weaken Divinity] gave him the tools needed to fight those blessed by gods and those who used divine energy.

The gray aura wrapped around his mace and body. His steps were heavy, sure, and fast.

Finally, he had made a correct choice.

He reached the Hierophant and swung with his mace at the alien head.

It felt good.

***

Alan fell on the ground as the root-like tendril that pierced him pulled back in an instant and returned to the mass of white to create a dome around Wuros.

Emerson stood behind the alien, his mace, his eyes, his whole body glowing with eerie gray light. A strange suit of armor covered him from neck to toe, making Alan forget about his wounds for a second.

“What have you done, fool?” Wuros asked from within his protective cocoon sounding oddly muffled.

All the while Alan gasped for air and struggled to stand up. The feeling of having his guts almost torn out as the tendril pulled back was one of the worst things he had experienced. Even worse than the initial stab itself. He felt like his insides were about to fall outside.

The charm given to him as a reward from the dungeon appeared in a weak flash of shadows. Alan used whatever mana he had left to power it and hoped for the best.

Soft warmth instantly took away all the pain and even made his mind feel lighter. He focused on Emerson who was looking mighty awesome. However, there was a grimace on the man’s face. Pain and… relief at the same time. Emerson couldn’t catch a break and Alan found with surprise that there was a hint of pity in his heart.

Not that he had much to give considering that he was still bleeding out on the fucking grass.

He had never pitied anyone before this.

The cocoon of light opened like a flower, revealing Wuros without a single hint of the damage he had sustained.

The attacks from the other humans kept coming, but Wuros ignored them all letting the sheets of chitin surrounding him do the work. They swirled like petals, blocking fireballs and arrows almost lazily.

“You have abandoned the gift I gave you? How?” There was curiosity in the alien man’s voice. More curiosity than anger.

Alan with surprise realized that he much preferred angry opponents. Enemies who talked and couldn’t control themselves or snarling monsters. Those who wanted to learn, to know, those who were not in a hurry – they were the true danger.

He coughed and spat some blood out. Despite that, he felt much better.

The healing warmth was doing wonders, and he felt even his fatigue disappear. It worked too slowly.

“I was given the mercy of choosing my punishment for the souls I doomed,” Emerson replied. His voice was cold, monotone. “I’ve made my choice, and I’ve rejected your Goddess and your lies. Your death will be the beginning of my atonement.”

Wuros laughed and before Alan could even blink the white blob behind shot out from the side like a bladed whip and cut Emerson’s head straight off.

Alan felt his heart skip a beat, but then with surprise realized that Emerson was… fine. The head had gone flying, he was sure. Was Emerson using illusions now? What was going on?

He stood up on shaky legs, careful with the still-closing wound on his belly. He didn’t neglect to check for any humans nearby. It is what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

Alan took out his staff, using it as a crutch, and focused on regenerating his mana as fast as possible while retreating further from the fight. He was reminded of the good old days of having to use a cane everywhere.

The world spun for a second and Alan did his best to stay standing.

You have excessively exhausted and strained your body. Due to the effects of [Limited Vitality], your Vitality has been permanently reduced by 1.

Of course. It was the cherry on top. The effects of the charm somewhat alleviated the feeling of his vital energy leaving him, thankfully.

Is it the damage or the healing that was exhausting it? Whatever.

Alan struggled to focus as his vision swam.

He hated to admit it, but he was no match even with all of Sanctuary behind his back. His skills were too limited in their use.

Emerson though…

The giant-looking man looked shocked as if he had seen a ghost. But then smiled in a way that promised nothing good.

Emerson roared and charged toward Wuros who in turn sent spears that penetrated the armor at the weak links with amazing accuracy, avoiding the large plates protecting the shoulder, chest, and stomach.

The plate armor proved harder than anticipated and easily deflected most of the attacks, making the spears of chitin slide off. Emerson didn’t even slow down as his mace came crashing down upon the chitinous shield that formed to block his strike.

The chitin shattered in pieces and the next strike sent Wuros flying backward.

What the fucking fuck is going on?

It was then that the rain of projectiles resumed and the white mass struggled to react in time and protect Wuros’s weak body.

Alan considered sending a few shadow slashes into the fray. He wasn’t going closer without [Monochrome Armor] though. He could barely move as it was.

However, he wanted to contribute. Just in case Wuros died, which was highly doubtful.

The haziness was going away and Alan managed to look around and check the situation.

The fight against the purespawn seemed to be on its final leg. Destruction, white limbs, shattered pieces of chitin, and cut-apart human corpses littered the battlefield. Only a few of the centaur-like spawn remained.

Ashlyn was still there in the distance, fighting like a woman possessed, and Alan saw a few others who stood out too.

Cole commanded his people from the back, like a general, while he stood at a safe distance.

There was a bald man that met Alan’s gaze next to Cole. He grinned at Alan.

I should really kill them all.

“So… the System fucks things up for me again, huh,” Wuros’s voice made Alan turn. The alien man was standing on a raised platform of white chitin and was once again blocking all the projectiles and spells coming at him. He had put some distance between himself and Emerson, though. “I won’t be the one to fail. Not me. If you knew what the punishment of failure is, you would offer your heads voluntarily.”

Top Rabbit, the girl with the light beam, and a few others were all keeping their distance too. No one wanted to get close in case the white spot plague skill was used again. Even if it could be removed with a simple cleanse, it was too risky.

Emerson didn’t answer, opting to walk toward Wuros. Each of his steps seemed to shake the earth.

At the same time a beam of light once again broke through the sky and Wuros’s armor, leaving a deep mark on the alien’s torso.

Chains of dark blue and black suddenly dropped from the sky and wrapped around the chitin and his body, squeezing tight. Alan once again felt something familiar and he turned to the other side.

The girl he had seen at the bar was there, a half-open scroll hovering next to her. She was focused on the alien, whispering something to herself.

Alan sighed and took out the wand from Florence as a last means to attack, sending one, two, and then three fireballs flying. The explosions of the fire felt satisfying.

It was a pity there was not a second person with an acid-based skill.

There was a momentary pause before the onslaught continued. The three-eyed alien was looking very hurt for the first time since the battle had begun.

It was then that Emerson reached Wuros and hit him with his mace again and again and again. The gray aura covering the weapon was allowing it to do incredible damage.

Some people were emboldened and closed in. Axe, hammer, and sword skills rained on the monster. His strange flesh became torn and broken. The mass of white beneath was becoming sluggish and failed to lash out or protect its master.

Alan stood to the side watching and leaning on his staff. He felt too exhausted. Mana was pouring to alleviate the stamina depletion and the effects of the lost Vitality, while golden light continued to heal him.

Something felt wrong in the fight, though.

The voice of Wuros came from chaos.

“Gotcha.”

Fuck.

Alan sent mana to every centimeter of his body and pushed away to widen the distance. Pain wracked his body. He did it just in time as the flowing chitin exploded upwards before dropping down like a dome… or a net.

It formed a thin lattice, which quickly started closing toward Wuros threatening everyone who had gone in. Those inside panicked and tried to stop or cut it, but all happened too fast.

The screams were short-lived and the sound of multiple bodies being cut into pieces was horrible. Blood and entrails splattered the ground.

Wuros stood up and the chitin flowed to fix his wounds. Some of the flesh and blood on the ground flowed toward him too, fixing up the parts of his body made of actual flesh.

Only Emerson stood, rising from the minced human remains.

“How long can you keep that up?” Wuros smiled.