We starting boisss.
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury(Unusable), Stormfront Razor
Acc(10/11): Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Celestial Emblem, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Amalgamated Brain, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
Armour: Victide Armour (Ranger)
Weapon: Tendon 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: (400/400)
He couldn't help himself.
He had promised to be ruthless. He wanted to be cold and cunning. He had pitted himself against two unforgiving foes: the age old Crimson infection and the man known as The Lunatic Cultist. He couldn't afford to be sentimental. What good was pithy morality going to do him when battling The Intestinal Worms, or The Crimson Brain or The Wall!
"Have you lost your mind?! Have you just gone unhinged since returning from The Crimson?! Not only are you running around, murdering people willy-nilly, but you're plotting it. Threatening peoples lives to lie and cover for you. Attacking them completely unprovoked! How am I supposed to deal with you!"
But he couldn't help himself.
He couldn't fight his nature. His Slayer, the one he'd raised from infancy, the one he'd watched grow in power and deed, was rapidly becoming an unhinged killer. Some of this was his own fault. Almost everything The Terrarian knew, he had learned from The Guide. The Guide had been placed in a unique position of influence, he was granted the authority to sway this godlike creature in whichever way he pleased. Already, The Slayer had grown so much. He had just faced an entire army of goblins with minimal injury... and as his power grew, his flaws - The Guide's failings - were being cast in ever sharper relief.
"Don't you know you can't kill?! Do you even have a good reason? Self defense doesn't apply to you, nobody here could hurt you even if you let them!"
Because he was increasingly convinced that The Terrarian had no conscience.
He had no sense of right or wrong.
It wasn't that he couldn't feel guilt - but rather, he didn't share that inborn sense of morality the rest of humanity was held to. He was vicious and ruthless, but not because he was evil... he didn't know what it was to be evil. In fact, his only measure of good and bad seemed to be The Guide's opinion on things. He must have truly thought it was completely permissible to lie and murder so long as The Guide didn't discover him.
"Slayer, how can I trust you! You're like a wild animal! Are you just going to kill someone whenever I take my eyes off you? Because you know what that makes you? A liability! Not even useful! I need you to show restraint!"
The Guide huffed out of his nose and planted his hands on his hips. He glared down at the bloodied man sitting upon a pile of corpses. Ignoring her protestations, he had stormed out of The Stylist's house ten minutes ago to find The Slayer dragging freshly deceased goblins out of The Compound. He had dug a large hole in the forest and was currently filling it with bodies when The Guide interrupted him. The gravesite was a mess. Bodies torn asunder, blood and guts everywhere. Most of the corpses were limp and flopped heavily as The Terrarian handled them. Others gasped and stirred weakly as they were crushed under the weight of their brethren. The sight... was making him sick. He had demanded The Terrarian cease throwing cadavers around before addressing him.
I've... I've made a monster. No! Has he always been like this... urgh.
The Terrarian sensed his discomfort and seemed confounded about it. He stared up at him, motionless, from his grotesque seat. His normally pristine armour was splattered in blood; his navy blue cloak was discoloured with viscera. Although his face was hidden, The Guide could easily read his body language. He was terribly confused, and was likewise terribly worried of The Guide's opinion of him. His frame seemed to shrivel beneath The Guide's gaze, and suddenly The Knight was too small for his armour.
"Well?! What do you have to say for yourself?!"
"..."
"Nothing?! It doesn't matter who you hurt, as long as I'm fine with it? As long as I'm not mad?! Is that what it is?!"
The Terrarian looked like he was about to give an affirmative when he caught the look on The Guide's face. He froze, shut his mouth and dropped his head back down. The Guide gritted his teeth and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.
"I can't believe you! This is ridiculous!"
"... I'm sorry."
The Guide sighed and pressed his lips together bitterly. The Terrarian wasn't sorry because he had killed someone. He was sorry because the news of murder was upsetting to him. What a twisted mentality! How could anyone live their lives so dependent on another?! That was...
"Tch!"
He glared down at his very confused 'child' and felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Look how easily he manipulated The Terrarian? Not moments ago, the almost-man had butchered his way through a hundred man army without batting an eye. The Goblins had begged him for mercy, but there was no conscience behind that cold mask to appeal to... yet that very same 'Monster Knight' was hanging, terrified, on every word that fell from his lips. Was it just respect? No - much more than that. Love? Maybe. Probably some twisted, incomplete corruption of it.
What am I going to do with you...
He watched as The Terrarian fidgeted, covered in blood and wringing his hands in distress. There were flashes from behind the slatted visor, the whites of eyes gazing up at him, then back down to the ground in tense anticipation. It was quite clear that the only person that really mattered in The Terrarian's world was The Guide. In fact, it seemed that nobody else really existed. Was this some sort of mental defect? Amidas had speculated that The Terrarian wasn't a 'complete' being. At first, The Guide didn't understand what he meant, as The Terrarian was certainly physically whole. However, over the weeks, The Guide had come to realize the almost-man's psyche was an absolute mess.
Can I blame him? Urgh...
How could The Guide hate him for that? It wasn't his fault how he was born. Besides, wasn't this what The Guide had wanted? He had planned this from the beginning. When he first found that unconscious body in the centre of the summoning circle, he had carefully plotted to bring The Terrarian under his control. He had even ordered the Travelling Merchant to be killed in order to ensure The Terrarian would follow him, and him alone. He wanted a powerful force to exploit for his own purposes, and he had succeeded... All of this was of his own doing.
Dammit!
The Terrarian would do anything for him. He'd do everything he asked, and everything he didn't. Surely The Terrarian had some twisted reasoning as to why he had killed The Merchant and nearly murdered The Party Girl, but frankly - The Guide didn't want to know lest his anger flare up again. He let out another deep sigh and softened his gaze. He stepped forward and grabbed The Terrarian's helmet by one of its horns, causing the almost-man within to freeze.
*click...snap*
He undid the chin-strap; The heavy Victide helmet came off. The Guide let it fall into the bloodied grass and both of them watched as it rolled a few feet before coming to a stop. The Guide steadied his gaze and spoke aloud.
"Hey."
The Terrarian wouldn't look at him. His figure was shocked and rigid. He stared - wide eyed - at his fallen helmet, as if wishing with all his heart to hide behind that visor. The Guide sighed and reached out to turn The Terrarian's chin. Although his form was that of an adult, his skin was still uncharacteristically soft - as if he were still a newborn. His hair hadn't grown, despite remaining un-cut for several weeks, neither was there stubble on his cheeks. His eyes were downcast, doing their best to hide beneath their lashes.
"Slayer, Look at me."
The eyes flashed once more. That gaze which, on many occasions, had inspired terror in others was now itself filled with terror - and The Guide was suddenly reminded just what sort of trials he would soon throw The Terrarian into. He grimly suppressed the slithering in his guts and dropped his hand to his side. His voice was low.
"Slayer, I need you to do something for me."
The Terrarian blinked in response.
"The Stylist and The Party Girl. Those Pink-haired women... I don't want them to die. Do you understand."
"...Yes."
"Anyone who lives in The Compound... don't let anyone die without asking me first. Yes?"
"Yes."
"Promise?"
"I Promise."
The Guide nodded and The Terrarian once again dropped his head to stare at the ground. Was he really ashamed of his behavior? Or was he just ashamed having been caught... well, it didn't matter. The Guide wasn't much longer for this world. He didn't want his last days with The Terrarian to be filled with strife. After all, once he disappeared... The Terrarian would be alone, and-
For my family... and the world... and for my own soul too, I need to do this.
His voice was loud. Loud enough to cover the tremor in is voice. His fierce gaze had turned into something sad and, almost involuntarily, he reached out once more to run his fingers through The Terrarian's feathery hair. Ah, how awful he was... he was here, berating his innocent companion for wrongful devotion, yet in as little as a few days, he would rip from him everything he held dear. Wasn't that punishment enough? To learn that one's parent was nothing but an exploitative opportunist? The Guide bit his lip and swallowed hard, staring bitterly down at his companion.
I must do this... I'm sorry Buddy...
-Were the words that ran through his mind, but the command issued from his mouth would begin them both on this dark, spiraling path. The Guide hated it, but he said the words anyways. He knew The Terrarian would listen. Perhaps things would've been less heartbreaking if he didn't.
"...And one more thing."
The treetops rustled as the wind whistled forlornly through the boughs. It sounded like it had visited them to mourn.
"We leave for The Crimson tonight."
"Voices, you say?"
I nod as I stare into the high cathedral-like ceiling of The Archmage's castle. It's of beautiful construction, and I seem to lose myself in that intricate spiral whenever I let my gaze wander upwards. A prick in my shoulder brings me back. I look through the clear ice of The Archmage's golem (which is busy tattooing a spell circle on my shoulder with an inhuman precision) and answer the kindly old man who is seated in his ever present ornately-carved ice chair. Over the past few days, I've come to the conclusion that the chair must be enchanted. For it appears whenever The Archmage wishes to sit, yet I have never seen it teleport or warp into existence at all.
My voice echoes loudly in the castle, and I flinch at the reverberations.
"Yes, voices or... a split personality caused by... magic?"
"Hm..."
The Archmage ponders as he flips through a hefty tome. It's only been a few hours since The Old Man went outside and made the announcement that I had died to my injuries. The stunt has cost me my helmet, but I suppose its worth it. After all, the effect is all The Archmage was after - something about politics. It was for this very reason he had landed his castle in such spectacular manner - to attract a crowd, and ensure the bad news spread as quickly as possible. After all - he claims 'The Only thing that travels faster than light, is bad news.'
I'm still not particularly sure if he was serious or not, but The Archmage laughed when I suggested that we find some way to weaponize the physics defying properties of 'bad news'. I laughed too. For the first time in my short life, I'm not particularly concerned that I'm being made light of. It's a strange feeling... but somehow I know that so long as I'm in The Archmage's castle, I'll be safe and taken care of.
The Archmage's voice is deep and clear. I've come to enjoy listening to him. Perhaps it's because nobody had ever spoken to me with such kindness? I'm unsure, but neither do I feel the need to investigate it.
"Well, my boy, voices and a magical split personality... It sounds like you've described to me the classical symptoms of magical derangement. A very dangerous condition, I must say..."
The Archmage pauses to generate a crystalline pipe. He places it beneath his impressive moustache and takes a long draw from it. It takes a moment for me to realize there isn't smoke rising from it, but rather bursts of snowflakes. He glances up at me and I make my face go flat, trying not to make my interest apparent. Doppleganger hasn't bothered me in a while, but I felt his breath tickling my ears last night. It sends a chill down my spine, but at least my visual hallucinations have gone away. There are no longer worms bursting out from under my skin, and for this - I am thankful.
Although I do fear that using any significant amount of magic will trigger Doppleganger once more. I've been reluctant to ever since the battle. The Archmage had provided me a powerful spell tome titled: Winter's Fury. He had offered to teach me, but I declined to practice. I hope The Archmage doesn't find it strange.
The Old Man strokes his beard and continues.
"Magic is chaos. Those who fall to 'chaos' will find their magic many times stronger than before. Almost as if insanity attunes the mind to the nature of mana. However, although it may be an appealing idea, you must never go this route. Deranged mages must be either eradicated or stripped of their magic. They are far too dangerous to live. Calamitas, for example, is one such sorceress... she doesn't bear her moniker for nothing."
"Calamitas... The Witch of Massacre?"
"Exactly, my boy. But tell me- why do you ask?"
He fixes me with a prying look and I freeze up. If I tell The Archmage about Doppleganger, what will he do? He just said what he'd do. He will either kill me or strip me of my magic. I stutter momentarily before lying as flippantly as possible, hoping The Archmage will not press me further on the source of my curiosity.
"Nothing. I simply recall reading it in a novel. I wondered if it had any basis in reality"
"I see. It's good to read. Texts are a portal to a world, whether they are real or imaginary."
"..."
There is a particularly sharp prick in my shoulder, and I flinch as a bolt of icy electricity flashes from the cryon golem's translucent body into the intricate pattern on my arm. The golem, a strange figure that seemed to be composed of several floating pieces of geometric ice, begins to shatter - as if transferring its life to fuel the magic circle. After a long moment, it disappears to nothing. My arm pulses for a few seconds, than that sensation also dissipates.
The Archmage narrates the experience for me. He seems to take great satisfaction in telling me astonishing things. I, likewise, am receptive to it - for all of these astonishing announcements have been to my benefit.
"That, my boy, is what I like to call the "unbegrenzte Leistungsstufenanpassung" or, colloquially, Unlimited Buffs. If you were to drink every potion you could find in The Alchemist's storehouse, its effects would only equate to half the potency of this charm. When you...'recycle', your body is created anew. It's far too dangerous to weave the charm together with your soul, so we'll have to put it back on each time you, ehem, come back."
The Archmage made a vague motion with his pipe before putting it back in his mouth. He had sensed my distaste with the idea of 'dying' and was leaping through all sorts of linguistic hoops to avoid saying the word. He's used all sorts of analogies, some of which I find amusing.
"To mitigate any other... untimely expirations, I am working on a certain concoction for you, but it will be a bit before its finished brewing. In the meantime, you should begin your infiltration. A new batch of recruits are set to arrive in a few hours. You should dress to blend in."
I asked McMake to provide me a skit, and he sent me a photo of a minecraft snow block.
cryogen be like
Okay so... sending Slayer and Guide back on the road. BoC Soonish.
Return of Ammy next chapter.
Did you know, the first chapter of this fic was released on December 2nd 2020. Its been a year. I guess if I have 96 chapters, that's a little less than 2 chapters/week. Pretty crazy. Thanks for yall for sticking through a year with me! Have a merry Christmas and happy holidays!
Love and kisses leave review.