A/N) I'd like to thank you for all the kind words and positive reception! It has been really nice to read, and I feel more motivated than ever to keep on writing— though being as shameless as I, I'd likely keep it up regardless of feedback. No matter, if even a single one of the commenters is entertained, then that's enough for me.

Generally speaking, I only reply when there's a question that won't necessarily be answered inside the fic. Otherwise it feels as though I'd either clog your inbox with "big thankies for kind words uwu". Maybe that'd be annoying. What do you think? Would ya like me to engage more with reviewers through the message system?

(Dang, here I am, going back on my word. I said that I wouldn't be reading the reviews/comments due to me worrying about letting readers down, but still end up doing it and enjoying it. Eh. Keep it up, I think I've gotten used to it now. ...Rather than being utterly mortified and regretting ever posting the story when I first got started. ...Y'know, the olden days when I didn't expect to get more than 100 follows?)

Huh. Speaking of which, I guess Karma Weaver is one year old now. ...Shame I only actively wrote for about 4 out of the 12 months in the year. It'll be a literal decade before its completed at this rate. Hope this chapter doesn't drag too much. ...Felt just a bit wordy again.


Chapter 14 - Scent of Rot (So Sickly Sweet)

There was no point in gawking. Not anymore. The chips were down and every second mattered— any waste of time could very well cost them their lives. No doubt it took a tremendous amount of willpower for Bard to pull his eyes off of the horrific creature that lurked in the woods just a few hundred paces away.

"[Fortress], [Cleft Stream]!"

"[Whirl of Blades]!"

No time to dwell, as the melee combatants prepared their buffing Martial Arts in preparation for the tide of rotting fiends that would be upon them any second now— with Momon himself being surprisingly silent.

"[Preserve Stamina]." So too did Bard begin chanting, emboldening his comrades with a cocktail of various buffs to aid in staving off the enemy. Even then, the spellcaster had to fret.

With not a single tree to block the wind, a fell breeze swept through the meadow— drawing an involuntary shudder from the caster. The thick layer of clouds blotting out the sky grew thicker yet— with the increasing murk reducing visibility. One would certainly not be able to guess that this was supposed to be a summer morning with how cold and dark it had become.

But Cassian's eyes weren't on the darkening sky nor the storm that it presaged. Instead, his attention was drawn to the encroaching horrors that were coming from all sides. ...With only a little reprieve being given by the house covering their backs.

Worst case scenario would be if each and every single one of these were like Ceyx, rushing in with the intention of bursting and showering them all in a terrible blend of viscera and animate mould— a thought that must have crossed Karatus' mind as well, judging by how he was fumbling to cover his bare arms with layers of excess cloth.

At the same time, Cassian had to consider the possibility of this demon being intelligent. It had sent Ceyx specifically, most likely as a lure in some vain attempt of catching them off-guard.

'Maybe the corpses had to stand still for long enough before they can burst like that.' It was an optimistic idea that would certainly make things a whole lot easier, if it were true.

Bard's brown eyes once more glanced towards where the demon was supposed to be but found nothing but trees.

Of course it would move.

Frankly— at this rate, the damn thing wouldn't need to lift one horrifying digit to end them. The undead which seemed drawn to Cherry Stem like moths to a flame were more than plentiful. And though severely lacking in elegance and skill, seeing entire swathes of them meandering into the meadow with murderous intent was still a strikingly chilling sight. And soon the team would be enclosed in a semicircle, fighting off hostiles on all exposed sides.

But Cassian never got time to work himself up over perceived threats— not as the first stone was cast.

A low whistling sound echoed in the clearing as a crossbow bolt sailed through the air, striking a shambling corpse square between the eyes.

"...Got it."

"Holy—!" Karatus marvelled at the marksmanship put on display, but was cut off by Shizuka rapidly launching another barrage of bolts. It was astounding how she managed it without an automatic crossbow, and Bard's eyes involuntarily widened upon seeing the little girl's hands blur as she reloaded it.

More whistling of soaring bolts, with streaks of wooden brown moving through the length of the meadow and striking true every time. Yet the horde was undeterred, the unevenly spaced undead closing in still. ...Picking off stragglers or singular targets were easy enough, but Cherry Stem would be in the thick of it soon.

"Jeeze, leave some for us too-!" Milla grunted in exertion after shaking off her incredulity, lifting her claymore above her head— allowing a [Dancing Starling] to linger on her sword until the enemy got close enough. ...Though managing to retain a playful lilt, Bard knew her well enough to notice that her bravado was false, likely built up to stave off the encroaching dread and fear.

"Y-yeah!" Karatus agreed, finally having managed to cover up his bare arms, now rapidly nocking an arrow and letting it loose. The feather fletching on the arrow danced in the wind as it gracefully flew across the open field, its steel arrowhead effortlessly biting into rotted flesh where it landed.

"Tch." The ranger clicked his tongue— seeming frustrated how he had merely struck a shoulder when Shizuka seemingly managed to nail them somewhere vital every time. Nevertheless, there was something to be gained from Karatus missing the vitals.

The vectors or rot that shambled forward collapsed whenever struck by a bolt or arrow— even if they missed any supposed vitals.

'...Not standard undead. They're closer to extensions of that thing. They are not unlike waterskins, but holding decay instead of water. If they are punctured... The mould starts leaking out, and the corpse cannot be puppeteered. ...Though the sludge they leak still has to be burned.

This is shaping up to be an endurance test. I'll have to be clever with my magic.'

"...[Needle]." Cassian evoked a simple 1st-Tier spell, with an illusory white light erupting from the tip of his staff. Using it to simply stab someone would be more effective when considering damage output. But...

Instead, the tip was pointed towards a shambling corpse, and the vague form of an overlarge white needle rapidly elongated, sacrificing durability and puncturing strength. Even then it was enough— managing to punch right through a raggedy Merchant's Guild uniform and pierce a cadaver between the ribs.

The damage should have been superficial for any creature, let alone an undead one, yet it still collapsed to its knees, gurgling as its wretched lifeblood escaped it.

"Milla, enough!" He shouted the command at the top of his lungs, wanting to be completely sure that he had been heard.

"Eh?" The sword she had raised above her head stopped glowing, the charge of [Dancing Starling] fading away. "What is it?" The warrior lady could only afford to look over her shoulder at the team leader for a single moment— not wanting to take her focus off the approaching threat for any longer.

"Don't waste stonger Martial Arts on singular ones! ...They will go down quite quickly with simple strikes!" Cassian roared as loudly as his dry throat allowed him to. Milla clicked her tongue before frustratedly lowering her sword. ...As a melee combatant, the warrior trio seemed quite restless— unable to help unless they strayed too far away from the group, running the risk of being surrounded.

Martial Arts that worked at range were too inefficient to be used on fodder when the targets were so far apart.

As things currently stood, 'Uphill battle' seemed like an accurate term for it.

Bard was learning more about the strategy employed by this thing, and damn it, even if he knew what it was doing, there wasn't much he could do to counter it.

Those walking vectors of rotting plague were a pain to deal with due to their seemingly endless numbers— pouring out of the woods like a rancid wave. Though repelling the initial few was easy enough, the front line had moved close enough for Bard to see the more detail and catch a whiff of their disgusting forms.

'How did it get this many corpses?' was the first question on the spellcaster's mind as he speared another carrier of rot— careful to avoid targeting the same one as Shizuka or Karatus— both of which seemed to have entered the zone, felling any decaying fiend that deigned to stray too close.

The mage's mind moved at a million miles an hour, finally coming up with a few satisfactory possibilities.

Caravans, settlements, defiled graveyards, battlefields and travellers.

Settlements and travellers were easy enough to hunt down if need be (the abandoned one they came across may very well have been slaughtered by this demon). ...And caravans were only a little different. Filled to the brim with people and goods alike, they often had several carts, those with an inventory to peddle and those holding people wanting to travel.

They had guards. Merchants. Adventurers. Workers. Travellers. Families moving.

And in true Merchant's Guild fashion, they wanted to earn money.

So why take the tolled road? Sure, the tolled road was protected, but damn expensive. So just hire a few people for cheap and take a slight detour.

Bard's mouth pursed as he stabbed another corpse adorned in merchant's robes, and a shambling form far too small to be an adult.

The Draconic Kingdom was at war.

They needed funding.

So during times of war, goods are more sought after— merchants want to earn big, and engaged in trade with settlements near the front-lines. As such, roads were tolled. ...Yet the Draconic Kingdom lacked the manpower needed to protect every length of road leading out of the nation.

So...

Who really cared if a few caravans went missing because they tried to skip the tax? Put out a warning, maybe, but don't actually hire anyone to deal with it.

As a result, that demon had been allowed to grow fat for quite some time now, by Cassian's estimate.

'...Damn it.' He swore internally, feeling the impotent rage and mounting disgust resurge.

The mage's exhausted eyes peered up again, past the seemingly endless horde.

The deer-headed abomination could be seen again. Significantly closer this time.

An antler-adorned head peering out from behind a tree— its chittering maw contorted into a foul mockery of a grin— elongated appendages reaching through the bark of the tree to render it a torrid husk. Bard was certain that the freak was taunting them. ...Enjoying their struggle. It wasn't difficult to see why.

The ranged combatants would run out of ammunition eventually.

He'd run out of magic energy.

...And the warriors were at a natural disadvantage with how those things operated.

Nobody had gotten hit yet, because taking damage was likely a death sentence in and of itself. Even if they made it past this mess, Cherry Stem would have to contend with the source of all this.

And yet... There was a spark of hope in Cassian's chest.

The three warriors stood ready.

These things were coming from all sides— though their backs were covered by the house, eventually they'd break through. And when they did, the melee combatants would have to get involved.

Milla looked to be a mix between excited and nervous.

Yon appeared determined, though there was an undoubtedly fearful look in his eyes.

Momon was... Unreadable.

"Abhorrent Avatar of Rot." The dark warrior suddenly spoke.

"Huh?" The caster couldn't quite make sense of what the man was saying— still focused on the task at hand, firing off a conservative spell to thin the crowd.

For once, the copper-ranked adventurer seemed to have some unknowable emotion staining his otherwise regal voice. "The demon we're dealing with. It's an Abhorrent Avatar of Rot." ...Even if Bard wasn't able to determine just what that inflection was, at least he could put a name to the ghastly inhuman mien.

'...Abhorrent Avatar of Rot.' His mind grimly repeated the name as another swathe of living dead was purged with a potent cast of [Draining Cut]. 'I loathe to admit it, but by the Grace of the Six, it's a damn fitting name...!'

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mooon..." Yon repeated under his breath, attempting to amp himself up as the tide drew ever closer.

"To the left and right." Shizuka's impassive voice notified, and several heads turned to see rotting dead— those who had entered the clearing from the other direction— round the corner of the house to surround them.

Milla's teeth grit. "Now or never!"

With this new information, the warriors moved to intercept the second part of the horde, which— unlike those approaching from the front— seemed to move single file in a conga line, taking the shortest possible path to fresh meat.

"[Dancing Starling]!" She hadn't been justified in using it before, when the move was liable to hit only singular undead due to their spacing. But now?

The claymore that was hoisted above her head hummed. Truthfully, the sword had seen better days. The blade being more of a heirloom handed down rather than a brand spanking new piece of weaponry. The length of the blade was covered in scratches and little indents, with the sheen of polished steel having disappeared with time.

In that instance, however, Milla's claymore looked brand new. Covered in a translucent layer of bright light, none of the marks left by time could be glanced.

Of course, none had much time to admire the weapon before it slashed horizontally— a brilliant crescent moon of stark white light erupting from the arc in which the sword was swung.

Not quite a trump card, but devastating nonetheless— as the searingly hot streak blurred forward, effortlessly bisecting a dozen encroaching enemies without the user having to risk moving into a risky position.

The struck corpses fizzed upon being hit, with not an ounce of mould leaking out of the gored pieces that had been split apart.

"...Gotcha." Milla breathed, not yet tired but still a little winded after having used a more complex and draining Martial Art.

"Nice 'un!" Yon declared, rushing forward to aid his friend. "Ay, Momon! You got the other side?"

"I'll handle it." The dark warrior filled in smoothly.

With their backs against the wall of the house, the shambling corpses could only approach from three cardinal directions. The front— where the vectors of rot were slowed significantly courtesy of heavy fire from Shizuka, Karatus and Bard— and the two sides, where the undead approaching from behind the house would have to round the corner and stand face to face with the melee combatants.

Even if this seemed a solid enough strategy at first glance, it didn't change the fact that the adventuring team was little more than a whole helping of animals backed into a corner. Should any line fall, the formation would collapse, leaving an uncoordinated and divided group to be picked apart by the ceaseless undead.

These rot-carriers weren't much tougher than the weakest of undead— seen in how the team had yet to sustain a single scratch. But it was naive to compare these things to meagre skeletons. ...For the second one ended up hit or covered, that person would likely die and end up reanimated. You either didn't sustain damage, or you perished. 'Precarious' didn't even begin to describe it.

Cold sweat begun trickling down Bard's brow at that prospect as he continued to spear lone corpses with [Needle] and mow down larger groups with the energy-efficient [Draining Cut]— carefully avoiding 2nd-Tier spells in case they would be necessary later. (They most certainly would.)

The pile-on of corpses and writhing mould grew, and the violence escalated.

Karatus had begun firing several arrows simultaneously, with a clever and carefully controlled [Gentle Guidance of Gust] to ensure that they struck true. But even his quiver— one of the most expensive pieces of equipment present, enchanted to hold an abnormal quantity of arrows— began running dry. Soon he'd have to fall back on [Savvy Hunter's Scavenge] to retrieve the fired projectiles without putting himself at risk.

...And at that point, the ranger's stamina would likely run dry very quickly.

Though Bard could easily discern how well Karatus was faring, Shizuka was a wholly unknowable. She simply procured bolt after bolt, firing again and again. Never once missing and never once using a Martial Art to compensate for a lack of aim.

Instead, each motion seemed carefully calculated, near mechanical in terms of precision and hypnotic to witness. There were times a target was partially obscured by cover, and the little girl would simply skip from one foot to another— leaping across the ground as if weightless— each projectile fired while in motion still managing to hit perfectly.

"HO!" Milla panted, stepping in close to a shambling corpse before— "[Body Strengthening]!" —darting away with the use of a Martial Art, making a duel to the death with hordes of undead seem more like a dance. Of course, this served a purpose as well.

The rot-carrier she briefly came close to did not rupture or explode. Instead, it seemed to spontaneously spew the horrid slurry from every single facial orifice— rot erupting from behind the eyes and out of the nostrils before the torrent came rushing out of the mouth— spraying its immediate surroundings with the rank mixture. But it was slow enough that Milla didn't need to employ a Martial Art to dodge.

"OI!" She roared. "—These things don't just burst when you get close! Watch out for the face!"

The dwarven warrior cackled, seeming more upbeat now that he'd have the chance to help. ...With how things were looking up, there was a chance that they'd make it out after all. "Right, lassie! Go on then!"

With this piece of information, the warriors could make themselves useful without having to risk showering in animate black mould. Moving in near perfect sync befitting of more experienced adventurers, Yon and Milla charged forward in tandem.

Bard couldn't quite help the smirk pulling on his lips.

There were plenty of things separating copper-ranked and gold-ranked adventurers.

Pure brute force was one of these things. Those adventurers that made up the higher ranks were simply stronger, be it physically or magically— while also having the skills to back it up.

So too was their equipment far superior— being able to wield higher quality weaponry of rarer materials that were forged by skilled blacksmiths.

...But perhaps most pivotal of all was their ability to function as a team.


"RAGH! [Grand Rivulet]!" A horizontal slash came out faster than the eye could see, generating a slight gust of wind as the wall of shambling corpses were split in two— the great force behind it preventing the blade from being caught between the ribs or other miscellaneous bone. Soon as the bodies hit the ground, a far smaller form leapt forward— twin axes digging deep into the knees of one rotting corpse and cutting the tendons of another.

Yon and Milla cleaned up nicely, with the shorter stature of the former syncing up well with the larger size of the latter— allowing them to fight side by side without thinking too much about hitting the other.

Simply put— any broad slice went right over Yon's head, as the dwarf mercilessly hacked through tendons, leg-muscle and groin. ...Occasionally crushing whatever head came his way whenever Milla knocked over something.

"Oi! Get this one!" The dwarf declared, with the redhead following along wordlessly, lodging her claymore in the skull of an undead with a battle-cry, effectively splitting the tide of dead in two. She didn't have to worry about pulling the blade free too quickly, as Yon came in at an angle, protecting her flank by smashing into an encroaching rot-carrier.


Copper-ranks usually consisted of teams formed of convenience.

They could be friends who grew up together— capable of communication, sure. ...Or they could be strangers banding together and creating a team so that they would be allowed to go adventuring at all.

...But that didn't mean that they would be able to hold it together when a time to test their mettle came up.

And to be as coherent as Milla and Yon?

Well.

'That's a whole different beast.'

Of course... While having chemistry in the midst of combat was important, there are some hurdles that look insurmountable. A gold-ranked team, no matter how good, wouldn't necessarily be able to overpower an adamantine adventurer— nor their equivalent enemies.

Which was why Cassian could feel his mouth go dry at the prospect of going toe to toe with the Abhorrent Avatar of Rot.

Even if they worked well together— becoming a force to be reckoned with... Would that hold up?

'...It won't.' He realised.

...And yet, the gold-ranked mage didn't lose himself in despair. Though it allows Cherry Stem to fight at a higher level, teamwork can't trump any hurdle. ...Some things were simply impossible to overcome with good chemistry alone.

Sometimes, you just needed to be strong enough.

THWOOM

One singular slash.

Powerful.

Overwhelmingly so.

Enough to obliterate a man.

Obliterate the tower-shield he held,

the armour he wore,

the blade he wielded,

the horse he rode,

and the ground upon which they both stood.

...Completely and utterly.

'It was a gap that simple teamwork cannot triumph over.' The spellcaster figured, watching how Momon outpaced Yon and Milla ten times over with but a single attack. Managing to— for the lack of a better word— expunge the wandering corpses from reality with what seemed to be a disinterested wave of the sword.

For just the fraction of a second, Bard feared the warrior clad in black steel. ...Even if that fear quickly morphed into reverence and hope.

There was a chance.

'We can survive.'

Not just survive.

'...We can win.'

"...Good god." Karatus' mumbled wide-eyed— so baffled that he outright forgot to nock an arrow, or indeed pepper his uttering with a litany of swears as he would have, given the stressful situation.

"—Eyes on the enemy!" Cassian admonished after having hypocritically gawked at Momon not a second earlier. The ranger took his advice, returning focus to the wall of dead that was closing in and offering a muttered swear before backing up— giving up yet a few more paces to the moving corpses. ...The ground they had to operate on was shrinking.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING? DID SOMETHING EXPLODE?!" Milla roared without turning around, still focused on felling rot-zombie after rot-zombie, fully entrusting her back to her comrades.

"FORGET IT! BACK UP A LITTLE! YOU'LL GET CUT OFF OTHERWISE!" The spellcaster yelled back, before his eyes widened seeing one decaying carcass stumbling to close. "[Static Burst]!" In the slight scramble to gain distance he inadvertently used a spell more powerful than necessary— reducing the corpse and the rot it carried to dust in the wind.

Another rot-carrier took the opportunity to approach, staggering forward and getting close enough for the mage to catch a whiff of its rank flesh. Though his nose wrinkled, Bard wasn't too fazed. He had dealt with undead before— even if these were far more perilous due to their connection to the demon, when one was on its own it wasn't threatening. "[Shape Earth]." The caster spoke, tapping the base of his staff against the dirt and making the ground the zombie stood on shift.

In the blink of an eye, his attacker's footing had slid several paces to the right. Unable to cope with the sudden redistribution of weight, the walking corpse was forced into doing the splits— something that would have been painful enough to paralyse most humans.

Though unfazed by this, the undead was not able to shake off Cassian using the same cast of [Shape Earth] to form an earthen tendril and crush its head like a grape.

Swift and energy efficient as that was, it seemed as though others were even faster.

"[Serpentine Shot]." Shizuka's inflectionless voice spoke as she launched another barrage of bolts. This time, however, they didn't simply fell one enemy a piece. The projectiles curved, whizzing through the air like angry hornets, each bolt managing to fell several undead— buying them some breathing room.

Bard felt it then. ...His growing exhaustion. And unfortunately, it seemed as though he wasn't the only one approaching the end of his rope. Karatus' quiver seemed to grow increasingly sparse. Milla was slow but deep breaths and Yon's stumpy arms were shaking, as if holding his axes was becoming a herculean task in and of itself.

...Whereas Shizuka and Momon both appeared to be in a category of their own, seeming utterly undaunted.

But adrenaline wouldn't be able to fuel Cherry Stem forever.

...So Bard stopped to look at the enemy then.

The less observant may have lost hope— seeing no end in the shambling horrors that were closing in on all sides. But to the tense and wired Bard, there was an undeniable qualitative difference to the undead.

The initial tide had been similar to Ceyx.

Gaunt. Pallid. Sickly. Feeble.

A sore sight, to be sure. ...But overlooking the ruse having been revealed, Ceyx had managed to fool all of them— with the adventuring team believing that the walking corpse was a deranged lunatic as opposed to a rot-infested monstrosity creeping close with ill intent.

The same could be said for the very first undead that had stumbled into the dead meadow in pursuit of the team.

Their clothes ran ragged— the once whole fabrics torn and discoloured after having been exposed to the densely packed forest and harsh elements. Their skin was ghastly pale and dessicated, with the mage being unable to tell if the flaking skin was due to lack of moisture or the corpses falling apart.

But one could— with some amount of effort— identify key traits of said bodies. Hair colour. Facial structure. Tattoos. Any sigils, emblems or crests adorning their clothing.

...The same could not be said for the undead currently making up the unceasing barrage.

'Black liquefaction' was the first thing to come to mind.

Their flesh had been wrung, barely able to cling to their bones. Eye sockets were empty more often than not. Teeth constantly bared as mould had eaten away at the lips that once covered them.

They were nearing the final stages of decay.

The rot germinating within the corpses having grown to the point that the bloated and swollen flesh bulged outwards, ready to burst with infestation. ...And in many cases, skin— let alone clothes and accessories— hadn't been able to hold on.

Yet the corpses marched forward, even if a stray gust of wind might be enough to fell them.

...In short, the supply of undead wasn't infinite.

The demon might have managed to build quite the collection, but it was ostensibly starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel.

'...And yet...!'

The day grew darker still.

And Bard had to wonder if they had taken the light of the sun for granted, as the thick black clouds that made up the overcast sky seemed to grow even more impenetrable. It looked ready to start raining— the dusky blanket of clouds now dark enough to be compared to a moonless night sky.

The far distance was now muddled, difficult to clearly see without night vision or some equivalent. The growing humidity in tandem with the rancid stench of decaying corpses was bringing back bad memories of the cellar.

Yet that memory was sidelined in favour of slaughter, with each adventurer desperately hacking away at the walking dead.

Felling more and more.

Piling up more bodies. More wriggling mould.

More hacking. More slashing.

More conservative casting of spells.

More arrows nocked and fired with the semicircle they've been pushed into growing more restrained.

And eventually...

When cold sweat caused cloth to cling to skin, when calloused hands and fingers were bleeding...

An anticlimax.

A crushing silence broken up only by heavy breathing, no shambling corpses left standing.

Stained in rotting blood, mould, earthen dust and several unknowable substances, the exhausted adventurers were at the very brink. ...But still very much alive. None looked ready to collapse just yet, with the threat still fresh in their minds. Nevertheless, a few weapons were still lowered, with worn arms screaming for a break.

'—There's still one more thing.' Bard realised.

"...Karatus. Shizuka." Cassian rasped. "Check for more hostiles. The root of the issue remains." The ranger seemed to tense back up at the command, and Shizuka merely nodded. Getting back up from his nearly kneeling position, the caster's head swivelled— looking around to see where it was. The final obstacle in their way. ...A terrible creature standing between them and victory.

"Bard." Momon spoke. And the frazzled mage returned only a grunt. The best he could offer in this instance while still on the lookout. With the dark warrior's superior experience, it would be wise to listen to what he has to say. "—Why did it attack us here?"

"Huh?" Cassian hadn't anticipated a question, let alone a rhetorical one— going by the inflection. ...It seemed as though the copper-rank already knew the answer.

"...Instead of waiting for us to make the journey back to Rhakyuu-Iéll and ambush us in the woods." He clarified. "Why did it attack us now, the moment after the ploy with Ceyx fell through?"

Just like that, Bard realised that his neck had been tickled by the cold winds of omen, with each hair standing on end.

'...If the demon had attacked in the woods... We would have sustained far greater damage. ...Reduced visibility would have crippled the range of Karatus, Shizuka and I, whereas the muddy and uneven terrain would put the warriors at a disadvantage.

Not to mention the element of surprise.'

The spellcaster's stomach dropped at the idea of conducting the day-long trek through the woodlands with a demon hot on their heels— prepared to gore them the second their frayed nerves inevitably failed to maintain complete and utter vigilance.

They would have been put at a severe disadvantage. ...And would most likely have lost handily.

Cassian could no longer fight off the paranoid dread that was broiling within.

'The Abhorrent Avatar of Rot has proven itself cunning, so why—!'

A wet rasp made itself known, and before the mage could so much as react to it, one of the dark warrior's blades was plunged into the earth just in front of him, so close to Bard himself that the tip of his nose was nearly shaved off. Instead of berating Momon as he normally would have done, his eyes instead trailed down the length of the sword, eventually finding what Momon had struck.

"Ugh...!"

One of the ravaged bodies. Rotted and devastated. One that had been struck down by Bard himself minutes ago before being once again run through by the newbie adventurer's enormous weapon.

...And when Bard initially blasted it, it had definitely fallen much further away.

"...Bard."

It took no more than two seconds for the team leader's addled mind to piece it together.

'The altar was in the basement of this place. ...It could be that we're meant to be the fresh new meat, and how it would prefer to not have to drag our recently deceased corpses all the way back. Or alternatively...'

"Bard."

'...It wants us boxed in and surrounded by altar-empowered undead. Why wouldn't it personally step in...? We'd lose the moment we'd have to face both the demon and its undead.'

Beneath the sound of gently rustling grass in the wind a disharmonious din was introduced— a noise akin to an unceasing rattling gasp. Goosebumps crept up Cassian's covered arms.

"Bard!"

'—That can't be right, could it? That thing was certainly destroyed by Momon and I...!'

"BARD!"

The caster in question was finally snapped from his reverie by Karatus shouting and yanking at his robe. Cassian's eyes were pulled from the body Momon had punctured, and instead began surveying their surroundings.

The horrid sound of wet choking grew more prominent.

Bodies that once laid still in the field, face down in puddles of mould, began twitching and groaning— making more noise than they ever had. And frankly, the mage wished that they just stayed quiet.

It was a terrible thing. A low droning that grated the nerves, the sensation comparable to nails on a chalkboard that was growing louder. ...The sound was something best likened to a man shrieking at the top of his lungs long after they've collapsed— sending spittle, phlegm and necrosed tissue flying in his ceaseless anguish. A harrowing earworm that made hair stand on end and caused icy chills to writhe down spines.

And then it multiplied. Growing. A solo. A quartet. A choir. And finally a field of a hundred decaying dead screaming bloody murder without stopping to breathe.

And perhaps worst of all, beneath the godforsaken white noise of gasping, shrieking, retching and gurgling. Beneath the rushing of blood in Bard's ears. Beneath the barely audible sound of his comrades muttering prayers... Cassian could hear crying and begging. The chances of it being merely an auditory hallucination was slim, but honestly...? He no longer could work up the nerve to consider any other possibility.

...Not as the first of the felled dead got back up.

Bloated and decayed, the infestation visibly wriggling beneath the skin as though a dozen eels had burrowed into their flesh. ...And before Cassian even had time to consider, the necrotic horror broke into a sprint— rasping and panting through its bared and blackened teeth like a rabid dog being offered a meal.

It was fast.

Fast enough that escape simply wouldn't be possible. Not when that speed was paired with the endless endurance all undead had. The cadaverous puppet stumbled over its own feet, nearly tripping and falling several times, but always regaining balance and returning to its forward leaning position— charging through the dead meadow at an upsetting pace incomparable to the languidly moving corpses from before.

Cassian braced, preparing to cast a spell to fell it, with fear clutching at the frayed edges of his mind and heart lurching in his chest. Those emotions were only staved off by his experience preventing him from freezing up. Though with waning focus and growing light-headedness derived from the stench and stress, it proved more difficult than anticipated to choose a fitting attack in a timely manner.

—But he didn't get to cast that spell as Momon cleared an astounding distance with a single step, effortlessly cleaving the running carcass in half and putting an end to it.

"Any ideas?" The man questioned, head far cooler than any of the others. Bard looked around— now about as pallid as some of the corpses— feeling a whole new level of despair upon seeing the many bodies slowly staggering to their feet. With darkened sky, bloodied ground, thick woodland and the cadavers in various states of decay, the scene looked to be plucked straight from a macabre painting.

Some rotting forms were far too devastated to properly recover. ...Though that didn't stop them for long, as several other ravaged remains forcefully grafted themselves on with the mould acting as a abominable adhesive. The nightmare-inducing thing that finally emerged could barely be recognized as ever having been humanoid— with gangrenous limbs and gaping faces pointing every which way. The greasy blotches of greyish meat fused, intertwined and coalesced into a shape that no animate being should have been able to assume.

"...Fuck." Someone mumbled.

Cassian shivered as the reality of the situation began to sink in. The undead hadn't been felled— the front-line had merely been moved forward.

Realistically speaking, what could they do?

These things were fast, and likely far more durable than before— with their sheer numbers alone being enough to overwhelm. ...And with nothing but densely packed forest on all sides...? There was nowhere to run.

And so, the reanimated carcasses simply stood there. Staring unseeingly. As if waiting for the adventuring team to make the first move, or for all of the bodies to be brought back to fighting condition. ...The caster's skin crawled upon seeing them all standing still. Like trees in a sparsely populated grove.

With a thick swallow— and with his responsibility as a team-leader forcing him to not break down in a pivotal moment— Bard looked at Cherry Stem. To say that they were 'dejected' or 'terrified' was an understatement to say the least. The atrocious gurgling clamour that defiled the silence of the meadow grew louder yet, making calm planning even more difficult.

(Frankly, the mage realised that there was a good chance that Momon and Shizuka would be able to make it out alive. —But whether or not the rest of them would be able to was anybody's guess at this point.)

'I-it isn't fair.' He couldn't quite repress that tantrum-like thought, but even that was set aside with the severity of the situation taking precedence.

As it currently stood, their chances weren't good. Not on even ground, anyways. And with the house fully infested with gods knows how much mould, locking themselves in there would likely be a bad idea. ...Especially not when the undead came pouring through the windows with their pliable bones and malleable flesh. '—Then maybe...'

This was it.

Moment of truth.

"The roof...!" He hissed— keeping his voice strained as to not trigger the still idle dead. Several heads turned to look at their captain with wide and fearful eyes. "We need to get onto the roof. ...Breaking out of the encirclement is meaningless. —We need high ground." A beat passed, with those present digesting this information.

—And then all hell broke loose.

Several dozen corpses broke into a sprint, with gurgles turning into howls and rasping into screaming. The mage nearly froze up, but recovered fast enough to blast them aside with a [Static Burst] alongside Karatus' firing another arrow. A thunderclap echoed throughout the dried up clearing as a crowd of three were sent flying back— rancid flesh now burnt black and fizzing. And yet they didn't stay down, instead wheezing and undergoing the same procedure as the other abominations.

But Bard's focus didn't lie on the ineffectiveness of his attack, with him instead lunging forward towards the closest of his allies, grabbing a gobsmacked Yon by the collar and wrapping an arm around the waist of Karatus who was still in the midst of cussing and firing arrows. "[FLY]!" He screamed, taking to the air while nervously looking at the others he could not carry. To his shock and awe, Shizuka had reached the roof of the building with a single effortless leap. ...Though that shouldn't be all that surprising anymore.

In a blink, Cassian landed on the roof with a sputtering Yon and a dishevelled Karatus, with four out of six adventurers now having cleared the ground. Though their footing was at a slight incline, the undead could no longer run straight at them without obstacle.

"MILLA, MOMON! GET UP HERE, NOW!" Momon would likely be too heavy to carry— and even then using any more of the 2nd-Tier [Fly] to assist Milla would likely be enough to use up the little energy he had left. At this point, the best he could do was dumbly stare as Shizuka and Karatus provided covering fire, and as Yon roared and swung at the bastards clambering up the other side of the building.

"HOW THE HELL DO I DO THAT?!" She shrieked in response, too busy defending against a sprinting cadaver with another [Grand Rivulet]— only barely managing to fell the creature. With this newfound speed and durability, any more than one would be enough to overwhelm and prevent her from turning around to climb, and she knew it. The redhead swore and retreated with a few aggressive slashes to ward off the rotting forms that tried to tackle her to the ground, whereas Momon smashed several skulls with a single backhanded swing.

"Shit shit shit shit shit...!" Karatus mumbled as he stopped firing arrows, allowing Shizuka to pick up the slack as he rushed over to the ledge to lend a hand to his comrade. As an experienced warrior, climbing the house was hardly a challenge— though being hounded by undead so aggressively meant that turning your back for even a moment would be dangerous.

Instead, faster than some could blink, Momon holstered his massive blades and stepped closer to Milla. "GODS DAMN IT!" The redhead screamed hoarsely, wildly swinging her blade at the rotten ones while practically tearing up her throat. "WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF YOU BA—AAAAA-AAH!" Her exclamation was cut short as the dark warrior reached out, with one hand firmly grasping her collar and the other grabbing the straps at the back of her armour— lifting her off the ground like a sack of potatoes.

"Hold on to your sword." He commanded. Karatus' eyes widened in a nearly comical fashion as the dark warrior proceeded to throw the woman right at him like a traveller throwing a duffel bag.

"MOMOOO— Gh-!" The two higher ranked adventurers needed to suck down another lungful of air when they collided, with the impact nearly sending the both of them flying off the edge on the other side of the house.

A dozen zombies rapidly approached the dark warrior who now had his back turned, some lumbering and some charging forward— but all of them moving as fast as their bloated and ravaged corpus allowed. These were more durable and far faster than those they faced before, so would Momon really be able to—?

Bard's concerns were quickly laid to rest as the dark warrior didn't bother unsheathing his swords. Instead he whirled around, swinging his mighty fist in a wide arc. And the spellcaster's mouth hung open as what amounted to a ton of rotting meat was sent flying back— smeared like flies. At this point, it shouldn't have been a surprise how the undead didn't get back up at all.

'—He didn't even use a weapon...' The mage's mind uttered, completely stupefied at how over a dozen enemies were brought down in such a way. Having bought himself some breathing room, the armoured warrior simply leapt with enough force to clear the entire length of the house. ...Of course, he just joined the rest of them atop the roof, uncaring of Bard's idea of what should and shouldn't be possible.

'Adamantine...? No. Maybe greater than that.' His inner voice sounded almost defeated.

But Cassian had no time to consider or ask— not while they were still under siege.

Momon himself wasn't at all fazed as he simply unsheathed his massive blades, going right back to hacking away at the screeching horrors who were scurrying up the side of the wall. —Feeling the effects of mana-exhaustion being chased off by another wave of adrenaline, Bard staggered to his feet with his staff as a crutch, just now seeing how hellish things have gotten in less than a minute.

Each corpse that could still move, did.

...Those that couldn't were crushed, liquefied and spliced onto those that could with oily black sludge acting as the catalyst.

If this was that thing's twisted idea of recycling or an alarmingly effective attempt at psychological warfare, Bard could not tell. And frankly, pondering that was difficult when the countless dead were bellowing with their scarred and foamy lungs that may have once been identifiable as organs.

The idea of omnipotent and benevolent Gods in Bard's mind seemed less and less likely with each passing second, seeing the many limbs ripping at each other in an attempt to clamber onto the roof.

Broken nails drew rotting and stagnant blood as they ripped into greyed skin and veins— though the red seemed quite outmatched by the oily substance leaking from every cut and orifice. They were close enough for the mage to glance the whites of their eyes, even if the decay meant that the sclera wasn't even close to that colour anymore.

With one last push, a gutturally groaning cadaver managed to climb onto the roof, latching onto the corrugated shingles with far too many limbs for what should have been a human body.

Karatus swiftly staggered onto his feet, not having the time to be angry at Momon for the little maneuver with Milla, instead running past a furiously attacking Yon towards the undead that had made it up and— "RAAGH!" —ignored his bow and arrow in favour of putting his full weight behind a kick.

A loud snap could be heard as the mushy bones that made up the creature's skull gave way, the malevolent cadaver losing its footing and tumbling off the roof.

"AAAAGH!" The ranger roared, pulling a dagger from his belt as to save the final few arrows he had. "—WHY WON'T YOU JUST DIEEE ALREADY?!" With that desperate (and undoubtedly fearful) battle-cry, Karatus began rabidly hacking away at the limbs that tried to latch on to him— sending beads of foul blood and slimy mould flying. The corrosive droplets did land on his clothing, but didn't manage to eat through enough layers to pose a threat.

Ceyx's demise had set the stage excellently.

They were paranoid before, fretting the possibility that all of the undead could explode like he did.

...And as such, had used up a fair bit of their stamina and resources dealing with the initial wave of undead, even with Bard's careful conservation.

Now, however, 'desperation' was the name of the game.

An adipose tidal wave of sickly meat came gushing out of the nearby barn, reducing the faded door to splinters.

There was nothing human left to be seen in these unliving nightmares.

Not as they howled unceasingly, creating veritable corpse-piles in an attempt to climb atop and dismantle the still living.

Martial arts were fired off, each and every single person hacking away with increasing desperation.

Even with Momon and Shizuka's massive contribution, the roof was far too large for six people alone to lock down. ...Though the added altitude had allowed them to survive this long.

Cassian could feel his knees shake. It felt as though there was an entire mule on his shoulders, pushing him down— and yet he still frantically jabbed at the encroaching Rotten Ones with [Needle] and whatever other spell he could scrounge up with his waning constitution.

It wasn't difficult to see what had changed now. Dotted throughout the meadow were these... Totems. Eerily familiar, haphazardly stuck together with butchered bits and pieces. A crude and inelegant thing compared to the carefully constructed altar found in basement, but definitely functional in much the same way.

The spellcaster shuddered at the thought of how fast they would have died if Momon hadn't taken charge and destroyed the wretched thing.

"HEADS UP!" Yon hollered, seeing a few monstrous undead make it onto the roof in the corner of his eyes. "Tch! [Whirl Of Blades]!" Unable to step away and deal with it, another instance of his speed-buff was applied in order to fight off the snarling undead closest to him.

Several sprinting bodies rushed towards the group, two rushing towards Bard and the remaining three towards Karatus. Those who approached the spellcaster didn't get far, stumbling over the uneven tiling of the roof only to get struck by a merciless barrage of crossbow bolts courtesy of Shizuka— piercing their temple, and both kneecaps.

With a throaty growl betraying his annoyance, Cassian couldn't be bothered conjuring any more spells, instead wielding his staff like a broom— effectively sweeping the immobilized cadavers off the roof. ...He could actually understand the appeal of well-crafted melee weaponry in that instance.

The ones doggedly racing towards Karatus proved more resilient, with Shizuka not being afforded a clear shot with the sloping roof in the way. Instead, Milla— upon noticing how she was closest— swore and closed the distance, cutting off the flanking zombies and using the element of surprise to quickly behead one with a manic swing.

An undead lunged forward with a raspy howl, only for the redhead to duck under the attempted tackle and grab it by what remained of its collar with a (thankfully) gauntleted hand. With a roar of exertion and a swift kick to its softened shin, the carcass was thrown off the roof, crashing into another crowd that attempted to climb up.

The warrior whirled around, only for her eyes to widen when coming face to face with the bubbling flesh of the third undead. "[Body Strengthening]!" Ignoring the added strain, Milla quickly sidestepped the ensuing spew of rotting guts that erupted from the swollen monster, not needing to do anything else to finish it off when Karatus planted an arrow firmly between its eyes.

"NEARLY OUT! FIVE ARROWS LEFT!"

Unfortunately, those zombies serving as a distraction was enough for the formation to collapse. An entire murder of gangrenous dead were pushed up one side like a rising tide. ...A handful of them rushed ahead, pouring over the roof as a larger smashed-together abomination with far too many appendages stumbled forth. Time seemed to slow as what felt like certain death drew close.

Milla grit her teeth. Yon was forced to turn away from the enemies climbing up the side wall. Karatus set aside his dagger to nock an arrow— pale enough to be diagnosed with anaemia.

And Cassian was sure that he didn't look much better.

Should they against all odds manage to triumph against this attacking force without the aid of high ground, the distraction would be more than sufficient to allow more undead to flock in. But that did not come to pass. "Shizuka!" Momon spoke firmly, somehow clearly audible over the hubbub of hundreds of undead despite the rather composed volume. "Go!" He commanded.

"Mmm." The little adventurer expressed, practically floating over the roof as though gravity was a mere afterthought. In one step she had gone from standing by the ledge to having one foot on the ridge of the roof. Even with the persistent threat posed by the undead, Cherry Stem still ended up turning towards the one-eyed girl as though suicidal. "[Munitions Box]." She spoke plainly, allowing a thick bundle of bolts to appear in the palm of her hand with a shower of ashen sparks.

For the first time since the spellcaster met her, Shizuka's brows knitted together— making her look a whole lot more serious.

"[Multi-Cluster Load]." The ammunition disappeared in much the same way that it had appeared— seamlessly fusing together into one bolt that seemed to shine and flicker. The unstable projectile was nimbly loaded into Shizuka's wrist-mounted crossbow as she once more took to the air with a dainty hop, and several pairs of eyes widened as the little adventurer seemed to hang in the air for a moment as if lining up her shot.

"...Don't move." Finally, the bolt was fired. "[Contact Engage]."

The tired spellcaster couldn't quite register what happened— only that the projectile that left a trail from the crossbow to roof. —In fact, it left several bright trails numbering well above a dozen, each snaking their way down to their footing in a serpentine manner.

Then all sound ceased to be.

It was as if the entire world had been plunged into a vacuum.

It took Bard a good second to realise that it was because of the eardrum-obliterating blast that Shizuka's move had produced.

It was almost like magic, how the bright mote-infused shock wave only gently ruffled the mage's hair and robes...

...And sent the many undead careening through the air and off the roof in several pieces. Arms, legs and even heads had been separated from their crushed torsos, with a mixture of blood and mould raining down on the desecrated meadow below.

In one singular stroke their high ground had been cleared of any hostiles, with the piles of dead crowding around the walls also having been swept away by Shizuka's ability.

'—Gods above...!'

Cassian stood there in awed silence, staring gormlessly at the rose-haired girl who landed back on the roof. He had a sneaking suspicion that ignoring allies was not part of the skill, but rather a testament to the young lady's expertise and precision that no friendlies were struck.

Of course, that careful precision came with a detriment.

The largest of the bulbous undead— the awful, bloated thing with several chunky torsos and grasping limbs— remained on the roof, not blown away by the many casts of [Contact Engage] due to its proximity to Milla. Though with the burns and serious lesions it looked quite desecrated. Much to Cherry Stem's dismay, however, pulped limbs and carved torsos didn't prevent it from setting its four pairs of cloudy eyes on Milla— once more charging forward with murderous intent.

It didn't get far, not as a blur of black and red came slamming into the side of the amalgamation.

Four adventurers— faaaaar out of their depth— stood there, staring flabbergasted and boggle-eyed at how the gargantuan Frankenstein's Monster of a creature had its entire skeletal system pulverized by the human cannonball that was Momon.

The dark warrior had blitzed across the roof, and in a single merciless onslaught flattened several ribcages, broke multiple legs like twigs and jabbed three heads into paste before finally moving into a brutal uppercut that liquefied the unfortunate last skull that was in the way— sending the massive body cartwheeling through the air like a rocket-powered gymnast.

In an almost comical fashion, the (certainly 'Dead' with a capital 'D') monstrosity— that now looked more like a wrung towel— came crashing into a crowd of undead in the meadow like the world's most violent game of bowling. So too did Bard realise how a few cadavers that weren't struck didn't get back up again, most likely due to their heads having been popped by flying tiles.

...Tiles that had been shot forward by Momon maniacally tearing his way across the roof to smear the pitiful undead creature across the ground as if he was buttering toast. Which implied that the dark warrior had taken the time to place a few well-aimed kicks, sending the shingles flying with enough accuracy to permanently put down a couple of rot-bearers.

What the fuck.

With the altar, the undead, the second wave of horrors... The last stand atop the roof? This was somehow more demoralizing.

"Why didn't you use your swords...?" Cassian's dry and cracking voice managed to croak, focusing on Momon while Shizuka used another [Munition Box] to give Karatus a few arrows.

"—Uh." The dark warrior hesitated. "Bard, I need you to start a fire."

A deflection.

Too defeated and too pressed by the still-present threat, the mage couldn't bother prying about that. Instead...

"Why? They are weak to fire, sure, but—"

"We are surrounded by dry grass." In that short time, many of the undead had staggered back onto their feet, bolstered by rot. "It might not be enough to kill, but certainly enough to prevent them from getting back up. With how many of them—"

"JUST DO IT!" Milla shouted, finally managing to close her gaping mouth, likely out of fear of catching flies (or indeed rot). With a sigh heaved through clenched teeth, she gripped her weapon tighter. "It's do or die."

Bard swallowed thickly, feeling the eyes of his comrades on him. After Shizuka's stunt, the clearing had been forced into silence— but now, even with the herd having been thinned, the din of screaming undead had returned.

This was it.

Likely the last contribution he'd be able to make before running dry.

'—Guess I'll have to put my back into it...!'

The undead were surrounding the building, returning to their siege.

'Y-yeah.' He thought. 'Do or die!'

"[Flame]! [Whip of Immolation]!"

Fire spell after fire spell was launched, aimed at the swathes of tall dry grass.

A burst of flame... A whip of concentrated embers sweeping the dried earth and setting it alight. The meadow had been sapped of its moisture due to the presence of the Abhorrent Avatar of Rot, and now that detail would aid in its downfall.

Arid thatch caught fire, and the flame rapidly begun to spread across the clearing. Completely drained but unwilling to accept defeat just yet, the mage hobbled over to the other side of the roof— with Karatus rushing in to lend a hand when he nearly tripped.

When Cassian's eyes met the clamouring cadavers on the other side, his expression no longer expressed fear.

...Instead giving a disdainful sneer of annoyance.

Pushing well past his limits, the spellcaster managed a few more fire spells, setting the other side ablaze. Even when he felt as though he could cast no more— with increasingly heavy eyelids and a discomforting burn in his chest that appeared so suddenly that it threatened to knock him supine— his jaw clenched, and another spell was forced out.

As if nature itself wanted this abnormality purged, the stormy weather picked up— allowing winds to further fan the flames that had been lit. Momon's strategy proved fruitful, as the licks of flames grew into a veritable inferno, burning through the clearing like a prairie fire. And even after the dry grass had been reduced to char, the animate mould proved itself to be an excellent fuel source, allowing the fire to burn for much longer.

Stoked by wind, the licks of flames grew into uncontrolled gouts of brilliant orange that seemed to reach for the skies while leaving the house mostly untouched— mostly due to the walls being too impregnated with moisture and mildew for it to be reliably lit up. Yet the heat was still enough to singe Bard's eyebrows. ...At least before the exhaustion finally forced the man to sit down.

Even still, the undead were undeterred.

The weakest ones— held together only by the mould— fizzled and finally collapsed as little more than crusty black husks. ...Though the larger ones, or those still in okay shape, held it together, still attempting to climb up to the roof despite their putrid flesh having been set alight.

Either way, this has proven advantageous. Any damage these corpses sustained couldn't just be shaken off. ...Even their rot-spew was less dangerous now that they were on fire— only singeing flesh as opposed to infesting and killing the target who was struck.

With renewed vigour Cherry Stem hacked away— emboldened by this turn of events and their newest allies' showing of power.

Shizuka's [Contact Engage] thinned the herd massively, and the raging fire that enveloped the meadow acted in tandem with their high ground to turn the tide in their favour.

Even with manic desperation and every member running on fumes, there was something resembling victory on the horizon. Then again... The Abhorrent Avatar or Rot still remained somewhere. Cassian— who was sat atop the ridge of the roof— sought out Momon, who was effortlessly holding down the broad side of the building on his own by splattering whatever burning carcass that attempted to climb up.

Somehow, even with a demon breathing down his neck... The noble felt reassured.

Once more—a change happened. As the last of the empowering totems was finally lit up, the many dead began to slow. ...Though more sluggish than before, the undead were still able to attempt the climb onto the roof.

They were firing on all cylinders now, with Momon and Shizuka each taking the busiest side on the other side of the ridge. —That might prove problematic, as they wouldn't be afforded a clean shot in case something appeared on the other side.

"TIME TA' LOSE SOME WEIGHT THERE, FATTY!" Yon roared, cleaving the yellowed skull of a smashed-together abomination in twain with a [Vicious Split]-empowered axe. A jolt of pain ran up his wrists when the axe struck something that refused to budge.

...Though the dwarf didn't really get a chance to really process that.

In that very same moment, the stinging in his wrist was eclipsed by a new pain.

Burning pain that clouded the senses.

—Radiating outwards from his chest and stomach as a shadow was cast over his stocky form. The bloated amalgamation didn't always have great big antlers. —Nor the head of a deer with forward-facing eyes.

Yon stared wide-eyed, able to do naught but sputter as ten writhing digits were wrenched free from his torso— splattering the roof with fresh blood and scraps of flesh.

The dwarven warrior collapsed, unable to bear his own weight any longer as his attacker rose, shedding its coat of rotting meat.

"YON!" Karatus stood staring, Milla held her claymore ready— misty eyes occasionally moving away from the demon to steal glances at the man's unmoving body.

With the Abhorrent Avatar of Rot standing atop the roof, Cassian was finally allowed a clear view of it for the very first time.

It was tall.

So, so tall.

A towering figure, sickeningly feeble with marred and fetid flesh wrapping around thin bones— the large undulating pores dotting its greying skin leaking some putrid oil. Though its most disturbing quality was the bizarre jelly-like consistency of the body parts that should have been tough.

Be it the elongated claws or the loose ribs poking out of the roughly shaped torso.

All slithering, shifting. Appearing soft and slimy rather than rigid like claws and bones ought to be. Horrific. That truly was the best word for it, as the mage just couldn't get its most likely method of attack out of his head. —The many ribs jutting out from its chest and the "fingers" adorning the demon's overlarge hands seemed more like parasitic worms, ready to burrow beneath the skin of an unsuspecting victim or tunnel into the brain.

That image stuck with him.

With Bard's eyes slowly trailing up, the awful body of the Avatar of Rot seemed to come to an abrupt end— with the head of a deer sitting atop it all, like a hat worn by a headless being.

That illusion didn't last long. White pinpricks of light could be glanced within the demon's otherwise unseeing eyes, staring back at the caster with a barely restrained malevolence. ...With the lower mandible most certainly belonging to a predator, along with the small woodland critters hanging from its stately antlers by sinew ropes like nauseating pieces of apparel, one wasn't likely to mistake this abomination for a normal deer.

It was staggering to witness the ungodly form towering over them, with the blistering inferno of the burning clearing serving as a hellish backdrop.

The many undead whose screaming filled the blistered meadow had fallen distressingly silent. It made the awful chittering sound made by the Avatar all the harder to ignore, like spiders scratching somewhere in his ear canals.

It was a thing that should not be.

A sacrilegious thing that had to be destroyed.

But even in this stupor, Cassian knew that doing so was an impossibility.

"[BODY STR—]!" Milla's use of Martial Arts was interrupted by the abrasively raspy noise emitted by the demon before as it launched into an attack. The redhead's eyes widened, and she put the full weight and force of her body in backing away— without much success. Though the warrior narrowly avoided a beheading thanks to its chilling sounds serving as a warning that was impossible to ignore, the fleshy tendrils of the beast carved through steel— severing her right arm and leaving several deep gashes across her chest.

"AAAAAAAH!" Milla screamed, barely recovering enough to glare at her attacker with bloodshot eyes, sweaty face and grit teeth. Karatus' arrows and [Power Shot] merely bounced off as if they were little more than raindrops— which in tandem with the unnervingly still Yon only served to further compound the group's dread.

Bard staggered, and in his desperation attempted to cast another spell. —But with the sudden migraine, overwhelming light-headedness and his nose practically gushing blood when making the attempt, no spell was conjured. He could do nothing but watch and pray as even simple actions such as speaking failed him.

An emaciated limb was raised so quickly that it blurred, ready to strike down the platinum-ranked adventurer properly this time.

Thwunk.

—Until a crossbow bolt nailed the Avatar right in the eye, causing it to twitch and falter. The attack didn't cease, but was postponed for a quarter of a second, enough for the redhead to make a narrow escape. "[Clear Wound, Stem Blood]!" Milla bit out as she rolled out of the way of a disturbingly fast swing that scraped off several roof-tiles— using a draining Martial Art to ensure she didn't bleed to death within the minute.

The gaping pores on the demon's skin heaved, showering its surroundings with a spray of black mould and rancid lymph. Though Milla got out of the way of the primary swing, the viscous substance still managed to cover and eat into her armour— with the redhead tugging at it with her remaining arm in an attempt to ditch it. "Gh— Dhaamn iiit...!" She croaked with clogged throat.

"[Savvy Hunter's Scavenge]!" An arrow teleported into Karatus' hand, before it was fired off with another [Power Shot]— this time also aiming for the eyes. The arrow, together with yet another bolt that came whizzing over from somewhere behind Bard, slowed the fiend enough for the warrior to get rid of her chestplate without being attacked. ...And before the caustic fluid ate its way through the plate and into her bloodstream.

Milla almost fell forward, practically scrambling away from the Abhorrent Avatar of Rot, but remained mindful enough to quickly grab her claymore during her retreat.

She whirled around without pause. "[DANCING STARLING]!" It was also a point towards the adventurer that she still had the guts to attempt an attack towards the demon despite missing her dominant arm. ...Not that the sword-beam did much, breaking apart into nothing more than shimmering sparks the very moment it came into contact with the unholy creature.

The weary warrior breathed heavily, unable to even react as the demon snapped into action without slowing for even the tenth of a second. They had just lost Yon, and Bard wasn't sure what he'd do if Milla bit the dust as well.

And yet—!

"Hah— hah— hah— haaah~ hahaha...!" Milla's deep hyperventilation faded into drained laughter as her lips quirked up into a slightly shaky smile.

Granted, the Abhorrent Avatar of Rot indeed charged forward with murderous intent, so fast that neither melee combatant nor mage was able to track it. ...Unfortunately for the abomination, however, they were intercepted. A solid wall of black steel now separated the two combatants, with the massive wriggling claw of the Avatar having been swept aside by a cumbersomely large great sword.

"Kh...! Hehhh..." A near hysterical giggle (or wheeze) slipped from Bard's mouth.

Approximately four seconds.

That was how long the Avatar ran unchecked, starting when it skewered Yon.

Such a meagre amount of time... And it managed to do a great deal of damage.

That period felt like eternity, but it felt incredibly relieving to have the dark warrior there— even if he had to abandon his post on the other side of the house.

'Wh- what the hell have you been doing, you bastard...?' The way his internal musings were phrased sounded judgemental and full of wroth, but ultimately Cassian felt nothing but gratitude. It felt closer to informally and vulgarly greeting an old friend at this point.

Momon did not speak in that moment, merely rushing forward— faster than even the Avatar was able to counter. And though his blade cut deeply, the regenerative properties of the demon alongside its malleable form allowed it to slip away with just a few missing digits and something barely discernable as an anguished howl.

It didn't get far, not as the copper-ranked ('Seriously, what the actual hell?') adventurer jammed a hand into the broken and splintered roof— ripping it apart like tissue paper. Casually lifting with his knees, half of the roof was tilted, and the demon gave a distressed clicking as it lost its footing, tumbling into the raging sea of flames below.

"...Grace of Six." Karatus mumbled.

'What are y—'

Bard's eyes widened to the circumference of dinner plates when the dark warrior leapt off the roof in hot pursuit, joining the unholy creature in the burning meadow— both of them now standing amidst a sea of flames.

"Wh—! W-wait...!" Of course, his pleas fell on deaf ears.

The undead who were attempt to scale the building gave in, instead sprinting through the burning clearing towards where Momon had landed— the full focus of the Avatar now resting on one individual.

The remainder of the adventuring team gawked, as Shizuka casually traversed the roof towards the unconscious dwarven warrior, potion bottle in hand.

But the mage wasn't focused on that.

Karatus was out of arrows, Milla was completely spent while Yon lay prone— possibly dead.

Cherry Stem was out for the count, but not yet lost.

The ungodly thing that should not be, the demon, the decomposing abomination, the carrier of decay, the Abhorrent Avatar of Rot. And...

A warrior clad in dark steel. One of the strongest he has ever met.

The wild inferno roared, stirred by raging storm-wind and tempered by Momon's mere spirit.

The quiet and arid meadow was gone, and in its place lied a hellscape. Heaps of charred corpses, burnt-black grass, still running dead barely in better shape than the charred ones who lied still, all while intimidating gouts of flame scraped at the skies.

In the middle of all— two stood. One man, and one distinctly inhuman. ...Larger than life creatures, whose mere presence seemed to press down on the blistering conflagration, reducing tall licks of flame to mere embers beneath their feet.

The hell spawn clicked and chirped, its many sharpened bones and claws wriggling and writhing as it hunched forward— prepared to perform a bestial lunge.

In one meagre motion, without even letting go of his blades, Momon unclasped his cape.

The piece of red cloth fluttered— dancing on growing winds and the rising heat of flame. Marred by corrosive rot and ripped by the claws of undead, the raggedy thing was finally set alight, drifting away as it slowly burnt into nothing.

An ice cold droplet of water landed on the nape of Cassian's neck. The darkened sky began leaking a light drizzle as if nature wished to match the growing crescendo, even if the uncontrolled pyre wasn't quelled in the least.

Amidst an ocean of fire, surrounded by living dead and face to face with a demon... Momon looked angelic. And utterly undaunted.

The Abhorrent Avatar of Rot was a legendary creature. Cassian knew this now.

...Not unlike the Soul Eaters who destroyed an entire capital city.

It was an aberration, an anomaly. A disgrace to the gods.

A being that grew fat by feeding upon the Draconic Kingdom's misfortunes like a malignant tumour, carefully subtle until it could become a scourge far worse than the demi-human threat.

It was a walking disaster, waiting until entire swathes of humans— men, women and children alike— would be reduced to decaying puppets.

Genocide made flesh.

Suffering... Undeath. Perilous and uncontrolled.

—A creature that one day would feature prominently in songs sung by bards, grand and operatic odes to courageous heroes that deigned to band together and slay it.

This demon was mythology, plain and simple.

The killer of a million men waiting to be unleashed.

And yet... Cassian laughed. ...And laughed. Oh so dissonantly. As if he had gone mad. Gods, he must appear utterly unhinged, but really, he didn't care about that. Not in the slightest. ...Because he knew.

He knew better than anyone.

Despite all of that.

Despite the danger it posed.

Despite all of its lethal abilities.

...All of the things it could do...?

...It didn't stand a fucking chance.


Chapter End


your free trial of existence has expired — and the next chapter will (probably) be very short (haha, demon go splat)

A/N)

You know, the original idea was to have everyone in Cherry Stem die a horrific death. But... Eh. I really can't be bothered to write about Momon and Shizuka, copper-ranked adventurers, returning back to Rhakyuu-Iéll on their own with the corpse of a legendary demon in tow. ...Writing a realistic reaction to that shitstorm would be a bit annoying. It'll be easier to have a few "trusted" gold and platinum-ranked adventurers confirm the tale.

So next I figured, "how about I just leave one or two alive"? But that didn't come to pass either. For two main reasons, really.

1. If Ainz was present, would he really allow his temporary allies die? (Also applicable to the "everyone dies" scenario.)

2. Can I really be bothered stretching out the Dark Warrior Arc even more, by writing about the survivors grieving? (Hell no.)

You may wonder, "Hey, Lemon, why so bloodthirsty?", to which I say; 'tension'! Obviously Momon and Shizuka would be perfectly fine, but if the audience cares even a little for those who aren't as invincible...? Well. That's an excellent way of establishing something as a threat. (If not a little cheap if done too often.) Ah well. Hopefully you were sold on the danger/horror of the situation, even if nobody bit the dust.

On the subject of Cherry Stem, do you think I did a passable job portraying a gold-ranked team at work? Were they too strong? Too weak? Utterly moronic or clever enough? Lacking in cohesion or reasonably coordinated?

The way I see it, copper-ranks are jobbers. Complete and utter newbies. Iron-rank are the baseline for adventurers. ...Whereas silver-ranks are more experienced adventurers. Veterans, but nothing special. Gold-rank is where actually competent people can be found, with platinum-rank being a step further than that— holding actually "strong" people.

That was the primary reason Cherry Stem has gold-ranked members (with Milla being platinum). To ensure that they could do something before getting trounced by the Avatar. Just having them on the sidelines as cheerleaders or dropping dead like a copper-team is liable to do in this situation didn't sit right by me.