Eyooo I'm excited. I hope y'all enjoy. next chapter is gonna be cray
love and kisses
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine Retribution, Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
Where is he!
The days were long. They were dragging like a dying animal drags itself back into its burrow. Painful. Creaking. Horrendous. The sun lumbered arduously across the sky - rising laboriously, crawling its path like a broken machine. The hours moved at a snails pace; his heart shuddered with each strike of the clock. The minutes... the seconds... each and every one was a shooting pain in his chest, because The Terrarian could come back at any moment...
...
But he yet to come home.
And the wait was torturous.
For The Guide was well aware that the longer The Terrarian was away, the less likely he would return.
...
Where is he!
Anger swelled in his heart. Not anger at The Terrarian in particular, nor anger at himself - but anger at this whole damn situation. He and his pygmy existence bared his teeth at destiny and beat his fists against the immovable walls of fate. Why had this happened! Had he not suffered enough to get here?! Where was his Slayer!? What could have happened to him!? The Guide had chewed his lip raw as he paced back and forth across his living room. Blood dribbled down his chin, but the physical pain was almost comforting in light of the travails of his heart. Although he'd arrived back in The Compound perhaps... a few hours ago? (it was now late afternoon) - he still hadn't changed out of his travel clothes. He looked downright ragged from The Crimson excursions - but although the hostile environment had put tremendous strain on him, he would take that open hostility over this gnawing anxiety any day of the week.
...shit, shit!
Why hadn't The Terrarian come home? If he wanted to - he could easily do it. He could fabricate magic mirrors ad infinitum. He could cover the ground in Recall potions without the slightest bit of effort! Yet it'd been hours and The Terrarian still wasn't back. Did... did he decide to run? Just to get up and abandon everyone?! Surely not! Maybe, they weren't on the best of terms at the moment - but it wasn't that egregious!
Tch...
The Guide shut his eyes and ran his palms down his face, tugging the skin until the undersides of his eyes hurt with the tension. True, he had come into sharp disagreement with The Terrarian over The Dryad, even to the point where they were at each other's throats - but he had a reason for it. A very compelling reason. Although it hurt him, he would do it all again to fulfill his goal.
I should have tried to be more amicable...
The Guide huffed, his mind suddenly sidetracked. Maybe he was wrong to grow so frustrated with the man he had so audaciously adopted as his 'child'. For despite his own parental urges, he had no claim on The Terrarian at all. Indeed, parents had authority over their children because they created and provided for them. They supported them through thick and thin. They provided safe refuge from the trials of life...
But The Guide had done none of these things. The house he lived in? The food he ate? The amenities, nay luxuries, he enjoyed? All came from The Terrarian's hand. The Guide had been nothing but a selfish taskmaster - and The Terrarian only accepted him because he had never known anything else. To imagine a creature so innocent he scarcely knew he was being mistreated! For indeed, the plans The Guide had for The Slayer made his own guts pitch whenever his mind dared wander there. If he discovered the tenderness with which most of the populace was raised, would he look back at The Guide with shock and bitterness? Would he be filled with loss and hatred?
It doesn't matter.
The Guide had already accepted that he would being hated. If The Terrarian didn't hate him already, he most certainly would after fighting, and hopefully killing, The Wall of Flesh. If The Terrarian's heart wasn't already broken, The Guide would shatter it with impunity. He had planned this for weeks, every day looking at The Terrarian and smiling and knowing what he was going to do to the boy. He was a man split in two. His heart burned for The Slayer. But his mind would trump his heart. From the beginning, he had planned to use The Terrarian for his own purposes. To avenge his family with no regard for the man himself. After all, The Terrarian was borne from the deaths of The Villagers. It was only correct he spend his life to make things right.
Don't get distracted... he's just a tool.
The Guide's heart twisted in him, but he glared at the floor and willed rebellious tears to retreat. He hardened his eyes. He made his resolve like steel as he shouted inside his own head. He had no choice. These were the cards dealt to him by destiny. A billion souls for a devastating heartbreak? Nonsense. Logistically, it wasn't even a question worth asking. If The Guide was to fight the evil in the world, he could by no means be swayed by petty emotions. He had to look upon everything with a cold, calculating eye. He had to learn to be wicked and cruel, even to those closest to him. How troublesome that he had developed such feelings towards The Terrarian. How dreadful it was, the way he loved him.
...
For indeed, he loved him.
He loved The Terrarian. He wanted to see him live and grow. He was proud of him. He treasured the few times they embraced to listen to each other's thoughts. He knew he was The Terrarian's entire world... even now, if they was a schism between them - The Terrarian would never leave. He was a fearful and timid soul. He treasured the things he was familiar with. He would never willingly step into the unknown. And had The Guide not caused him to murder his first friend, The Terrarian would have happily toiled under his authority for the rest of his days.
This is nonsense.
It was nonsense. Ridiculous idiocy. The Guide needed to crush these fantastical emotions because he was not a parent. The Terrarian was not his child. He didn't look like a child. He didn't act like one. He was a fucking full grown monster who had begun slaughtering everything he lay his eyes on from the very moment he was born. He wasn't human. He was barely a person. Maybe an animal. All of these soft feelings were of The Guide's own delusion, and this delusion was holding him back.
fuck.
The Guide grunted heavily as he collapsed into the living room couch, staining the indigo silk with gory residue from his clothing. A grandfather clock stood directly opposite him besides the ever-crackling fireplace. It ticked ominously as time crept by. He glared at it. He hated that clock. He hated it more than anything. It'd only been... how long has it been? Three hours? Half a day? It felt like a week... Why was The Terrarian gone so long!? Why wasn't he using his teleportation spells? He could have come back here in an instant, but it's been hours! Did he leave on his own accord? Did he decide he no longer needed The Guide? Perhaps his mind had cleared and he remembered that he'd been forced to kill The Dryad? He probably didn't flee... was he being held hostage? Was he dead?
No... no... no, no, no! I still need you!
Surely he wasn't dead... Surely not. Terrarians were supposed to be able to revive - right? (a brief foray into his memory confirmed this) But The Guide was well aware The Slayer wasn't a true Terrarian. He was some sort of hybrid. He had some dirt and plant and animal mixed into him. He was strong, yes - but his abilities didn't live up to the legends of old. A Terrarian was supposed to be invincible. The Slayer certainly wasn't.
He can't die... not until The Wall of Flesh is destroyed...
Time continued to crawl, unrelenting in its slow progression. It didn't matter what The Guide said to himself. All of his justifications, all of his harsh words, his vows to be wicked and his logical conclusions... they fell flat against his aching heart. He loved The Terrarian. He loved him very dearly. He didn't want to hurt him, but he had to. He was going to crush that little soul.
But in order to do so, he needed him to come home.
Tick... Tick... tick...
He sighed and slumped over, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his face in his hands. The Grandfather clock ticked ominously. Outside, the compound was quiet. Too quiet. The Terrarian wasn't back. He had either decided to leave, or The Lunatic Cultist had prevented him from returning. Were there spells that prevented teleportation? (a brief scroll through his suddenly expanded memory confirmed there indeed were). Perhaps The Terrarian really would come back, or perhaps he had died, or perhaps-
*creaaaak*
The Guide flinched, banishing every thought and voice in his mind. What was that!? The front gate?! He perked his ears and stood silently to his feet, eyes wide in excitement as he quickly walked to the doorway. Could it be? Was he finally back?! If it was anyone, surely it was him, right? Who else would travel here through The Crimson Lands?!
Dark thoughts suddenly forgotten, The Guide's hands shook as he wrenched his front door open and bolted into the lawn, the grass tickling his ankles and the waning sun glaring in his eyes. His heart was pounding. The beginnings of a grin turned the corners of his lips-
"hisss... click... click...tssss..."
But as The Guide came face to face with... a tribal lihzard man, he could not say he was especially surprised. Just disappointed. His face went straight. His eyes went hard. Although, if he went digging in his memories, he could probably decipher whatever banal greeting was being sent his way, he chose to turn on his heel and return to his home.
He sat back down.
He stared at the clock.
And he waited.
No wonder The Hero looked so sheepish! The Lunatic Cultist had been so surprised to see him, he didn't even consider why The Hero had been leaving The Dungeon, covered in blood and grime. To imagine he had spent the majority of the afternoon slaughtering The Cultist's minions residing in the dungeon! As the two of them made their way down the winding dilapidated paths, passing by the ruins of The Lunatic Cultist's life work - The Cultist felt indignant rage rising up in behind his eyes. Indeed, with each successive destroyed project he walked by, the more he had to suppress the urge to leap upon The Hero and box his ears.
Calm... calm... as long as the seal exists, not all is lost...
And The Hero clearly understood what a damn mess he had made. As they traveled further into the depths, stepping over the corpses of The Cultist minions, The Hero lagged further and further behind until he was nigh creeping behind like some guilty dog following his master.
And to be completely honest, the little shit was right to. He had managed to single handedly break just about everything in The Dungeon so far. The Guards were dead. The Dungeon denizens were dead. Even their pet Paladin was bone dust. The Cultist was well aware that The Hero was in kahoots with The Archmage. Although The Hero vehemantly denied that The Archmage had asked him to destroy everything, The Cultist was sure that frosty old bastard was the root of the issue - as always!
Tch! If we weren't fighting Yharim together, I would kill that pathetic frozen husk of a man.!
But if The Hero had also managed to break the Moon Lord's seal- indeed, if he had destroyed the body of The Dreaming God himself - The Lunatic Cultist might really kill him. This was the first real semi-friendly contact he's had with The Hero since before Braelor executed him, and The Cultist was glad to have The Hero at his disposal once more. But at what cost did he obtain him! An army of weak, obedient minions were better than a single powerful rebellious one. No matter how The Lunatic Cultist looked at it, this was a bad deal...
I can't bring my servants back... It's idiocy to reject The Hero out of spite.
Yet although he reasoned with himself to not spite The Hero, he couldn't help but stomp his way down the halls of the dungeon, grinding his teeth and muttering curses under his breath. Finally, he came the the Dungeon's bottom level. The magic was strong here, a haze of spirits. An effective smokescreen for The Moon Lord's aura.
This floor too was covered in blood. The bodies were fresher here. Their guts have been torn open and their entrails spilled across the floors to line the path ahead. They were all bunched up against the great locked door that lead to the Moon Lord's chamber and seal. The Cultist squelched his way through his colleagues and approached the door - taking a moment to cast a wicked glare at The Hero before pushing his way through.
Ah... great Cthulhu...
As he gazed at his fallen god, that massive form. That grotesque figure... relief washed over him. Relief and reverence. The Hero had not dared to touch The Dreaming God nor the seal that kept him in statis. Perhaps he was terrified of him. Perhaps he too heard The Cosmic whispers of the deep dying stars. Was the enormity of it not beautiful? The infinite made him so, so small and caused his eyes to burn with fever. There was a wonder in dread. A thrill when one stared into the infinite abyss. The blackness of the cosmos and the writhing stars. What terrible and wonderful things twisted and moaned in the sordid planets afar? What screaming nonsensical music played feverishly in the bellows of dead moons. The nonsense. The insanity. The madness. The Lunacy.
The Curiosity.
To him, it was a drug.
He could not resist it.
He knew he was being influenced and controlled, but why fight it! He wanted this. The Desire had been planted in him, and he wanted it more than anything. His will had been bound, yet although he was well aware of this - he was happy to obey.
He would raise The Moon Lord and feast his eyes on the utter chaos that his deity would inflict.
And The Hero...
The Lunatic Cultist turned to glance once more at the man peeking at him from about a corner. He had elected to remove his helmet since his episode with his insane 'soul' (whom he rather endearingly nicknamed doppelganger) and his face showed clearly the feeling running through him. The Hero was nervous, but he was also desperate. There was fear in his flesh, but a hard glimmer in his eye. He was a man who craved power - and The Cultist knew he would do just about anything to regain his magic. To him, his strength was his entire worth. Without his power, he was nothing.
Such a simple creature.
And simple creatures were easy to manipulate. The Cultist smiled beneath his mask and gestured that The Hero to come into the room.
"Well Child... Shall we get started?"
The Capitol.
The Shining City. The Golden Palace. Paradise on earth. Every path was paved in marble. Every streetlight was cast in silver and crystal. There were no vermin in the streets. There were no undesirables. No mangy dogs. No filthy rats. No cockroaches. No maggots. No useless people.
And certainly no accursed revolutionaries. None who dared to shun the might and generosity of their great Tyrant King.
For none could survive in these strictures. There was no crime, because fear ruled the people's minds. There was no racous shouting, because the executioners blade was always near. Draedon's two great eyes sat amongst the lofty clouds like twin mechanical moons. They chittered and creaked from high, high above - their baleful gazes always watching. That's what the people called them as they whispered to one another... The Twins.
Yharim's all seeing eyes.
... but today, The Residents of The Capitol looked up and saw the sky clear. The eyes were not in their usual places. They had gone north at their master's command...
North in search of The Archmage.
Faze: "How the fuck did you get this rich?"
Yharim: "I am the actual lord of this land. How did you get your stuff?"
Faze: "I mined it myself with the sweat of my brow -"
Yharim: "u sure?"
Faze: "sigh.. I got it from exploitation of the people in the resistance"
Yharim: "thats sick"
Faze: "YOU TORTURE PEOPLE ALL THE TIME!"
Yharim: "Yes. And im a monster!"
-McMake
Ellooo thanks for reading :) :) i hope you like it. leave me a note because I'm lonely