LATE CHAPTER SORRRYY! I've been busy as heck! hopefully stuff slows down next week and I can write more. Much love Ave kisses.
Edit SEP 25:
hello! sorry Bois, Slayers arm is not attached to his body, so his HP should not be full. sorry for the oversight. (thx duke!!)
also thank you for your reviews viani!! im so excited when people enjoy my stories. much love to all of you who leave reviews.
Armour: None
Weapon: None
Acc(0/11): None
Health: (50/425)
Armour: Victide Armour (Ranger)
Weapon: [UNUSABLE]Mandible Bow (Jester Arrows); Arkhalis
Acc(11/11): Band of Regeneration, Amidas Spark, Sailfish Boots, Luxor's Gift, Ocean Crest, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, Tsunami in a Bottle, Frog Leg, Aero Stone, Shield of the Ocean
Health: (375/400)
He... he must be dreaming.
Surely he was... after all, he'd had this exact nightmare every night for the past two weeks. Each and every time he closed his eyes to rest, the same horrible hellscape burst upon his mind's eyes to torment him until daybreak. It stole his sleep. It wrecked him bodily... but it was a dream and dreams weren't real. Dreams couldn't hurt him. Every time he fell into unconsciousness, he was whisked away to this place, every morning, the gloomy daylight always pulled him back unscathed.
Well, mostly unscathed.
It's all fake. It's just a dream.
He prayed that this time was no different, yet as much as he tried to deny it, it was. Everything here was so real! Every sensation that shot through him was so raw and poignant that he had a difficult time believing they were merely figments of his imagination. Could dreams be this tactile? Could dreams feel this oppressive? None of his had ever been quite like this - and he remembered every single one of those hellish nightmares. He had seen The Wall every night, but never had he seen it like this.
It's a dream... ugh god!
That great slobbering wall stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. Its enormity was only rivaled by how detestable it was. The Wall... The Wall was built from the parts of people. Muscle and bone, tendon and fat, they piled up and over each other as if competing to come to the surface. Organs too! Intestines attaches to skulls attached to feet attached to hearts. Skin bubbled to the surface like oily film on water. They formed screaming faces with voids for eyes and mouths before promptly vaporizing in the boiling heat. Tongues lolled out of gaping bleeding maws ringed with a all sorts of teeth. Cancerous tendrils rippled across its surface. Golden ichor ran in corroding veins.
Just like The Crimson but worse... all parts of the Moon Lord...
What had that ancient scroll said about The Wall? Firstly that it wasn't alone. It was the fourth and worst member of The Dreaming God's fallen viscera. The Slayer had slaughtered The Eye. The 'Brain' and the 'Worms' were still at large in the surface Crimson... but The Wall? (A tremor shot through him as he pondered its name) The Wall was a true terror. Memories didn't make a man. One's essence didn't dwell in the information that happened to be stored in the brain. The 'Brain of Chuthlu' was merely a warped encyclopedia of the memories of those The Crimson had invaded. The Worms were merely beasts that one should fear and slay...
But how had The Wall been described? The Gaping Container for souls? The Obscene keeper of Hell? He had pondered it after catching shallow glimpses of its monstrosity. He carefully considered the nature of an entity made of souls. Did it have consciousness? Could it think? Could it feel? What of those unfortunates that fell unto its grasp? Could they think? Could they feel? And what of those of his village who had been consumed by The Crimson?
Are they in there?
Now he saw it. He knew they were. He could see the stirring of wrathful souls rumbling, screaming, sobbing and dying beneath its surface. It held the spirits of man, of dwarves, of dryads, goblins... he saw bits and pieces of their anatomies jumbled together in the disgusting expanse of living gore. And what more, he was not merely condemned to gaze upon it. It was gazing at him.
Wake up! Wake up!
But he would not wake. He was trapped here, trapped to suffer in this terrible dream(or, perhaps reality). The amalgamation of flesh loomed over him on all sides, pressing in on him, crushing him with a claustrophobic closeness. Its thousands of wild, glaring eyes were fixed on him - he felt their gazes burning his naked soul. He cringed beneath those terrible, piercing gazes. He heard the gnashing of teeth. He heard the wails. He tried to avert his eyes, but The Wall was all around him. He tried to close his eyes, but he had no eyelids. He could not even escape to a blissful darkness. Wheresoever he looked was The Wall satred at him.
He gazed at it in terror, it gazed at him with an utter malice.
It hungered for him.
It pressed on him.
It screamed at him.
It was a terrific noise, a wild and vicious shriek sung by a thousand voices. The wail echoed in the dark chamber, a collective shriek of rage and pain. From the vocal chords of men ripped the noise of animals, the noise of faceless horror, the sound of agony. The voices of men, women, children and infants altogether crying out with heinous outrage. He could hear his mother, his mother who was so gentle and kind, cackling at him with a rabid cry. He heard his sister barking and howling like an animal. His father gurgling and wailing. All of those whom he loved, he heard them.
Ugh... AAhhh!
And they were singing to him. He beloved family, his beloved friends... they were singing to him.
They sang a monstrous song. They sang of hunger, they shrieked of pain. They mourned of their misery. They lamented their deaths... but above all, They hated.
They hated him.
They hated everything.
And they wanted him dead.
He quailed. He wept. His spirit trembled. Everything in him wanted to hide and flee, but there was no strength in him. There was nowhere he could go. He was bound by the encroaching walls, paralyzed in terror, held immobile by this malicious cosmic entity. Where were his binds? Where were his chains? He could neither see nor feel them, but was somehow hemmed in by the mere presence of that thing. Why was he here!? Why didn't he wake!? How could this be!?
Am I dead?!
The realization fell upon him heavily.
I'm dead!?
When he was struck with Amidas's 'healing rune', surely he hadn't... simply dissolved, right? A-after all, The Demolitionist had been caught in the spell's radius and had fallen to pieces, but The Party Girl hadn't! She had screamed bloody murder, but she didn't die, probably. The Demolitionist was a dwarf and The Party Girl was a human - just as he was. His physiology was much closer to hers (even with all of Draedon's enhancements). If the Party Girl didn't die, than surely he was fine as well...
She told you... she's immune to magic, you're not-
A chill wracked through him and he hurriedly quashed the damning thought. In a vain effort to combat the horrible dread edging on his consciousness, he continued to argue with himself... because this was definitely a dream. He couldn't really be here. That was entirely impossible. This place was hell in every sense of the word, and if he were really here, that must mean that... that he had died.
And he obviously wasn't dead.
Because look! H-he was here! He hadn't vanished into oblivion! He could think! He could feel! He could see! He was not dead, but alive! He... he had no body, no arms and legs, no eyes, no ears... but some dreams must be like this.
Please be a dream... please be a dream...
He repeated it over and over to himself, but he couldn't make himself believe it.
Because The Wall was coming nearer and nearer.
From roundabout him he could see it looming. Whatever strange, shimmering power that kept it at bay was slowly waning, slowly chipping away around him. What would happen when it shattered and The Wall reached him? Would he... would he simply wake up? He dearly hoped so, but the terror in his brain didn't believe it. What if he really was here, dead, and floating here like a tantalizing meal for The Wall to consume? The 'Healing Rune' had already ripped his soul from his body. He had watched it dissolve The Demolitionist and cause The Party Girl to shriek and writhe. Had it killed him as well? It... it might just be.
Am I really dead?!
How foolish he had been.
When his family was smitten by The Vulture-headed mage, he should have fled. Surely those that he loved would not wish this fate upon him, the fate of a thousand deaths. The fate of fiery eternity! He should have taken The Slayer and run! Why did he even consider this idiotic nonsense about 'playing Hero' and 'Rescuing souls'. He was merely an ant. He had no power to accomplish the things he had set his sights on - and now, the weight of the task had crushed him.
If he had eyes, he would have sobbed.
... oh, oh god... please...
He could feel it now, the spittle from gnashing teeth, hot rancid breath huffing from rotten throats. It was real as could be. The Wall of Flesh was upon him. He heard the voices of his family. They were suffering. They were dying. They had lost themselves in the whirlwind of noise and hate. How long before he too became a faceless, screaming animal? He shuddered as he stared down the open maw... its throat which yawned as wide as death. Tendons snapped and needle-like teeth stretched outwards like great spears to receive him. A barbed tongue shot out and stabbed into that ever shrinking bubble of shimmering power. It had nearly reached him, just a hairsbreadth from him!
Agh! No! NO! Stop!
The wicked tongue retreated, rearing back to once again lash into him.
As it withdrew, The Shimmering bubble shattered - he was truly at its mercy now...
The Wall screamed in triumph, then...
*fwoosh*
The sound of a mighty wind filled his ears. The Wall vanished from his sight. The heat disappeared, as if it were never there. Everything happened so quickly that even The Guide's very adept brain was struggling to rationalize what was happening to him. He flinched out of his sleep in a wild panic. He was immedietly conscious of the hard table on his back and the sharp pain in his neck. Fueled with adrenaline and hysteria, his eyelids fluttered open.
He saw a horrible amalgamation of insects and woodland shrubs hovering over him.
Then he thrashed, screamed and cried until he was choked back into unconsciousness.
Worms!
Giant, horrid worms.
They're nothing like I've seen or fought before. Breathing, seething, slurping monstrosities - covered in teeth and eyes and bursting sacs of yellow, ichorous venom. They have been my constant companions since I've arrived here. How long has it been? The days merge into nights, the dusk and the dawn have blurred into timeless hell. They encompass my mind. I can think of nothing else. How do I deal with The Worms? How can I fight The Worms? How can I escape The Worms? The Worms, The Worms, The Worms. Me, naked, fighting, fleeing, screaming, crying... Me and The Worms.
Because The Worms don't die.
And I don't die either.
A hive hovers over me, floating there like an abominable weather balloon. It's a horrible sight, bloated, ungainly covered in lumps and teeth. It's great lurid eye is fixed on me and there is nowhere I can flee to to escape it's baleful gaze. From its many mouths it belches forth poison. It vomits up bloody lumps and burning yellow rain that covers the ground with caustic liquid. It sears when it touches my bare skin; the soles of my feet must be blackened with the wounds I sustain as I run, but what can I do? My situation has long been hopeless. I know The Worms sense me by vibrations. I know that if I run, they will find me... yet if I stand still - The Hive directs its hideous spawn to tear me to pieces.
Shit... shit!
The ground beneath my feet rumbles. I know their patterns. I know they are near. There are three worms of progressively larger size. Each is unique in its behavior. The smallest one is by far the quickest. It is agile and light, covered in razor sharp teeth. It rips through the ground with a mindless fury, plowing straight through whatever stands in its way - even me! It has slain me many times and I have slain it once.
I tore it's head from its fucking body.
Then the other two, of course, tore my head from mine.
That was while I was trying to fight them. We've since changed the tune of our dance. Now, I'm running. The Worms are tracking me by the pounding of my feet on the ground. The Hive hovers over my head, dropping down acid over me. I keep running. The pain of death keeps me on my toes. I'm not particularly afraid of actually dying any more, I just want to avoid the pain... after all, I've already been killed - slaughtered, bisected, mashed into hamburger... how many times now? I'm unsure. Perhaps twenty times. Thirty Times. I have no time to count. All I know is that it hurts terribly. My breath is ragged in my throat and my spittle tastes of blood. I've sustained a significant amount of damage already. Any more, then I'll find myself burst into bloody giblets before once again before appearing, breathless in the center of my summoning circle.
And... and from there we would continue this dance. Me and The Worms. We will run, we will chase. We will fight. They will burn me with acid. They will tear me to pieces. I will die, and we'll do it again. It's a bloody dance with no end in sight.
*Rumble*
The ground shakes. I fly across The Crimson plains and as the sharp thorns pierce my feet, I curse my circumstances bitterly. Look at me! Look how I've fallen! Just this morning I sat at the crest of this world. I was The Hero, I was the most powerful person I knew. The Resistance spared me no expense. They lavished their praises without reservation. Did I not live well? Was the burden they placed on me so heavy that I would choose a thousand deaths by these horrible worms over fulfilling their requests?
And remain a slave forever?! You'd subject yourself to a life a servitude?!
Perhaps a life of servitude over a living death! An endless hell with The Worms. How far I've fallen! I was the one who dominated the battlefield. I caused hell to rain on whosoever I wished. People lived and died at my whim, and now I'm at the mercy of Worms! How pathetic. I'm running away like a hateful cockroach with my tail between my legs. I have nothing. No armor, no weapons, just the skin on my back and adrenaline to fuel my cowardice. I can feel the damage in my body accumulating. I can feel myself tearing apart at the seams. With every passing moment I become more hysterical. I'm crying, I yell curses. I shout nonsense at the creatures who hunt me. If I weren't so focused on staying alive, I might have died of shame.
Shit! Shit!
A Worm bursts from beneath my feet, tearing up the ground on which I run. I fall backwards and blood spurts forth from the land. The ground issues forth vines that lash my legs to the ground and I know the chase is over. That fleshy maw ringed with razor sharp teeth yawns wide over me. This is The Largest Worm, I can tell them apart by their diversity of teeth. The Hive watched me from above. The earth trembles below. I glare. I grit my teeth.
Then, I die.
The Worm sinks its teeth into me, carving into my soft flesh, snapping through my bones, mashing my guts into jelly and stringing them out across the evil ground. I feel it all, I scream, I shriek, I cry in rage and frustration... then I vanish.
...
...
And once again, I appear in the center of my summoning circle.
As I look over the horizon, over the cancerous ground and the living gore and my companions that are plunging through the ground towards me... I begin to long for what I fled from.
I long for my old life. I was a slave, yes... I had been killed publicly by The Commander and paraded about as a laughingstock. My fragile pride had been injured, and so - I lashed out like a spoilt child.
I wanted to be free... but is this what freedom looks like? Is this what my pride had purchased for me? A rotten land, filled with monstrosities?
I didn't want this...
Pride, Pride... it has led me here. Have I not read of this situations many times in my novels and studies? Pride goes before the fall. Pride makes a man bigger than he is, and when he is challenged, he is broken to nothing. Ha! I thought I was exempt. My Pride has blinded me... and now, it's been torn from me. I have no right to it. I've been reduced to nothing. Less than an insect. The one that is eaten by the worms. The one that has begged monsters for his life with tears and pleadings. That one that crawled on the ground, covered in acid and the blood of this vile land.
P-perhaps I will let go of my pride.
Maybe until I've earned it.
...
Because I'm tired of this...
I think... I think I want to go home.
Hero: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling depression and my anxiety
Slayer: You and me!
Hero (Tearing up): Okay
Notes: sooo, uh, um. Faze(hero) is getting his ass whopped ig. Guide is about to have a heartattack. Slayer is hiking.
So in case its not clear - which would be my fault rip - The Guide has got the dryad's blessing in his blood. If he dies, the blessing goes bye bye and WOF can just eat the world or whatever. So WOF is trying to kill The Guide, and Dryad is trying to save him.
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