Fork This Life!

Chapter 25: Fork to the Rescue!

Meanwhile, back at the entrance…

Marco pants heavily, but his arms never stop moving as they continue to wield sword and shield against the skeletons. He appears mostly unharmed, but exhaustion is clearly starting to take a toll.

Streams of sweat run down Ferdinand’s brow as he fights, stinging his eyes and causing him to blink repeatedly. But he has no time to wipe it away as the never-ending tide of skeletons press down upon them.

Alex is working to move the bones and fallen weapons around them away and into another room so that they don’t trip over while fighting.

Yawning, Joe digs around in his ear with a pinkie, inspects the result and wipes the earwax off on his pants.

After a while, the approaching tide start to have more and more black skeletons among them, until they are the only ones approaching. With even more pressure on them now, Marco begins to falteringly chant.

Although he hears it, Ferdinand doesn’t even spare him a glance – he has no leeway to look away from the combat, and he can barely see anyway with all the sweat dripping into his eyes.

“…Your will… my, shield… protect… until the last breath. Final Bulwark.”

A giant image of a shield appears, blocking the stairway completely. The skeletons beyond it immediately begin to batter against it. Decapitating the skeleton in front of him, Ferdinand wipes the sweat from his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief. Panting, he asks Marco, “How long can you hold that?”

Marco stands unmoving with both arms raising his shield, sword discarded on the floor. His lips barely move as he tries to speak, but no sound comes out. Ferdinand frowns. ‘Gerald was right, I should have trained telepathy up to advanced. Then I would be able to talk with him.’ He thinks regretfully.

“I, I think I’ve read about this spell before.” Says Alex, still ferrying skulls, pelvises and all manner of other bones across the room. “Final bulwark, yes. It’s particular to the paladins of Oodral, of course… Requires a shield for use, uses mana, stamina and… and health to power it…” he falters, a couple of femurs tumbling from his arms. “Cannot be cancelled or interrupted once cast, except by the user reaching one health. Results, almost without exception, in the caster’s death.” He gulps.

“Well, you’ll just have to heal him as soon as it stops then.” Ferdinand leans against a wall to catch his breath.

“I can try. But one health… he could die at any moment, even without anything attacking him. It’ll be up to his luck and will to live whether he survives or not. And either way you’ll need to take over the whole defence. I’m afraid that I’m more capable with a book than a battle-axe, so to speak.” Alex shrugs, dropping the bones to the floor with a clatter. He looks down at them sadly. “It’s going to take weeks to give all these a proper burial. If we don’t end up joining them, that is.”

Ferdinand shakes his head, again wiping off his forehead. “Marco was right. We can’t think like that. We just have to keep fighting.”

The holy sanctuary fades, and Alex shrugs. “I’m running low on mana, and I’ll be needing some to heal Marco. But why are you fighting? Us priests and paladins… well, it’s pretty much our duty. But you don’t seem to be particularly pious, so why are you here, risking your life in some nameless place?”

“I just want to help protect people.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “My detect lie skill tells me you’re telling the truth. My experience as a priest tells me it isn’t the whole truth.”

“Do we really have to do this now?” Ferdinand frowns.

“…No, I suppose not.” Sighs Alex. He spends the next few minutes in silence ferrying more bones across the room until the doorway is completely clear of them, keeping an eye on the shield blocking the stairway at all times.

Ferdinand takes a sip of water from a flask and sets it down next to his backpack along the wall. He dries his hands on his shirt, his breathing gradually slowing to just above normal levels.

Crack.

They look at the cracks starting to web across the surface of the shield, their faces tightening. Both of them had secretly harboured the hope that the necromancer would be defeated by the time the shield falls.

The shield shatters a moment later, and Marco falls backwards with blood spurting from his mouth, shield falling to the floor to lie next to his sword. Ferdinand scoops it up and stands in the middle of the doorway while Alex shifts Marco away, hands infusing him with healing magic all the while.

(POV Ferdinand)

I slip my arm into the handle of the shield and brace myself. The shield helps me to block off the skeletons on one side while I focus on fighting the ones on the other side.

One, two, four, seven, twelve, twenty… I stop counting, already used to dismissing the windows as soon as they pop up. I almost missed my level up earlier because of how used I am to it, but luckily, I just managed. I remember feeling very thankful that the menu could be used hands-free back then.

It’s unbelievable that I’m closing in on level thirty now. It was only a short while ago that I was only at level 18, and now here I am.

I shake away my loose thoughts and concentrate on the fight.

Slash, dismiss, slash, dismiss, slash…

I slowly feel my left arm growing heavy. The shield feels awkward, and the strap is digging into my arm painfully. I should have known that I can’t just pick up a shield and be able to use it effectively.

Slipping my arm from the handle, I drop it behind me, all the while fending off the myriad black skeletons in front of me. I’m going to have nightmares of this if I survive today. I shake my left hand to lessen the pain a little bit, and place it on the hilt of the sword, wielding it in a two-handed grip.

Slash, slash, slash.

Bones clatter upon the steps, shattered spines and scattered limbs.

Slash, slash, slash.

The dim light flickers ominously, sending an army of hollow shadows multitudes larger than the actual one dancing across the walls.

Slash, slash, slash.

That annoying drip of sweat has come back, and I can barely see anything in my left eye. But even the blurred figures I see with it are enough to combat their simple attacks.

Slash, slash. Slash.

I blink my left eye furiously, but that only seems to make it worse. I give up and decide to just stop blinking altogether. After a short while, tears seem to cover my eyes, relieving some of the pain.

Slash. Slash. Slash.

Skill gained: Battle focus (Basic)

Allows you to enter a state of intense concentration when in combat. Slightly decreases likelihood of being startled by unexpected events, losing track of an enemy and not seeing attacks. Strength +0.5, Dexterity +0.5, Endurance +0.5, Intelligence +0.5, Wisdom +0.5, Luck +0.5, Charisma +0.5 when in this state.

Dismiss. Slash. Slash. Slash.

They keep on coming, no matter how many I cut down. Both my eyes are stinging with sweat, I can only see indistinct forms. My arms are sore, my hands are shaking… I can barely breathe.

Slash... Slash... Slash...

My grip is slipping, and it feels like the sword will drop from my hands at any moment. I can hardly think. Why… am I fighting, again?

Title evolved: Undead bane -> Undead Slaughterer

Killer of many horrors of the night, you can instinctively sense nearby undead, especially those harmful to you. All stats increased by 2 when attacking undead.

Dismiss. Slash… Slash… Slash…

Right… I thought I could be like one of those knights in shining armour from the stories. Hah… She’s the one with the shining armour… And she’s stronger, smarter… Beautiful… How could I ever hope to rescue her?

…Slash…

…Slash…

…Slash…

…She’s taking a long time to beat him… She’s having trouble? But then… If these skeletons get through, she… I can hold on for another few seconds, surely?

I tighten my grip, take a deep breath, try and blink away some of the sweat and fight on through the pain of all the wounds I had been taking. It might just be my imagination, but it feels like my sword just got a little bit lighter, their weapons just a bit… slower.

Slash… Slash… Slash…

That wasn’t too hard, right? Another ten seconds?

Slash… Slash. Slash.

…Are they getting weaker? I feel like they’re getting weaker. I think I can hold them at least another twenty seconds.

Slash. Slash. Slash.

Is this a joke? Why are they so easy now? Where did all that pain go? I… I can go another minute at this rate, minimum!

Slash, Slash, Slash.

“COME AT ME, YOU UNDEAD BASTARDS!”

Trait gained: Battleborn

Whether your battles end in victory or defeat, you will never give up. Increased resistance to mental influences, increased grip strength, pain reduction. Stat unlock: Fighting spirit.

Skill gained: Battle cry (Basic)

Roar loudly, your voice echoing over the battlefield with a possibility of startling and/or causing fear in enemies. Reduced effect if used repeatedly on the same enemy. Requires: >30 Fighting spirit. Cooldown: 2 minutes. Stamina cost: 30.

Fighting spirit + 30

I find myself grinning as I cut down skeleton after skeleton. I dismiss the notifications without reading them; they don’t matter.

The only thing that matters is that not a single skeleton gets past me.

So when armoured skeletons start pouring down the stairs, I just tighten my grip, square my shoulders and glare at them.

Going back some ten minutes…

The distance between the sword of judgement and the skeleton Warlord is less than half a meter, and the sword is moving slightly faster than an arrow in flight. Such a distance at such a speed – it will take less than a hundredth of a second.

And yet, in that miniscule moment, the skeleton Warlord manages to interpose its weapon into the path of the sword of judgement. Death energy billows up its bare, skeletal arms and onto its weapon, struggling to push it back.

For a second, the holy magic and death energy are at an impasse: the holy magic constantly purifying the oncoming rush of death energy, and the death energy surging forth seemingly endlessly.

Snap!

A large shard falls to the floor, formerly the upper half of the skeleton Warlord’s massive claymore. Despite in the dim light, its silvery blue colour is clear; even a blade forged of mithril was unable to withstand the power of the sword of judgement.

Staggering backwards a step, falling to one knee as the glowing blade within its chest clashes with the death energy within its body. The dark flames within its eyes start to dim.

Grasping the hilt of the magical blade with both hands despite the death energy around them recoiling at the sword’s mere presence, the Warlord pulls it out and throws it away, the blade dissipating into motes of light.

Turning to the Lich, the skeleton Warlord speaks. “The first time you summon me in years, and it’s to be your meat shield? Damn wizards.” The Lich doesn’t reply, so the Warlord just rolls its shoulders and turns around. “Now, who’s the fucker that nearly offed me. Again.” It says, glaring at the group of paladins and priests who are still within the glowing sphere.

Looking between them, it quickly assesses them. “Weak, weak, weak weak weak… You two aren’t bad… so it’s her.” It says, referring to Lily who is wobbling slightly where she stands. The spell almost drained her of every last drop of mana in her body at once, and as a result she is experiencing some physical exhaustion.

It walks forwards, the generals moving out of its way as it approaches. It halts just in front of the sanctuary. “You aren’t hoping this can stop me, are you?” The skeleton Warlord rasps, pushing its skull into the glowing barrier. “Because it won’t.”

Ding!

The skeleton warlord blocks Luc’s blade with its own. Despite having lost its top, the blade is still of a considerable length. “That’s more like it!”

Luc and the Warlord begin to fight, and the generals similarly resume their assault. Barely two seconds later, the Lich begins to chant, but the Warlord rotates its skull to interrupt it. “Don’t you dare buff me! I didn’t come back from the dead after millennia to easily overpower every enemy I face! I came back to fight real battles!”

The Lich looks at the Warlord coldly. “You are mine, and you shall do as I please.”

“Oh? And what the hell are you going to do if I don’t? Take away my un-life? You don’t have the guts.” Mocks the Warlord. “Without me here, you’ll die in seconds. My fight, my rules.”

After a moment of silence, the Lich speaks again. “And what if he defeats you?”

“Then I die again.” The skeleton Warlord states simply. “True warriors accept the possibility of death. The only reason I died with regrets last time was because it wasn’t even a fight – it was an assassination.”

“Fine.” The Lich practically spits the word.

The skeleton Warlord shifts its skull back to its normal position. “Let’s get this started again, shall we?” The jagged edge of his sword hacks down at Luc.

Ducking to the side, Luc parries the blow by pushing it away with his own. From there he attempts a slash towards the skeleton. With a twist of its wrist, the Warlord blocks and attempts his own cut.

Parry, thrust, dodge, cut, block, riposte, slash, hack… The two exchange a flurry of blows.

Luc is fatigued and unable to fight at his highest capacity – but the situation is precisely the same for the Warlord. Deprived of much of his death energy from the earlier sword of judgment, it has perhaps half the speed and power that it would ordinarily enjoy.

Of course, it still had the endless stamina of the undead – an advantage that Luc is uncomfortably aware of. If his opponent this time were a human of the same calibre, he is confident that he could defeat it, but as it is, it may only be a matter of time before he himself falls if he can’t pull something off.

Breaking its weapon is nothing but a pipe dream, despite its apparent fragility – every one of Luc’s blows had been infused with either the Power slash or Power stab skills, to no effect. Blinding it somehow? Impossible. Break its stance? Possible, since skeletons are comparatively light.

Even while planning his next move, Luc makes no change in expression, no small movement that could give it away… his eyes don’t shift from the Warlord’s upper body as he drops to the ground and sweeps his leg towards the Warlord’s.

His foot meets nothing but air, and the next moment Luc rolls away to avoid the Warlord’s weapon stabbing down towards him. Regaining his feet in an instant, Luc looks warily towards the Warlord.

“First thing I did when I got this body was familiarise myself with its weaknesses… and strengths.” Utters the Warlord, surging forwards once more.

Luc prepares himself for another assault, but the Warlord instead darts around him like a swallow, slicing into his armour with the casual finesse of a master before jumping back to evade the blade whistling towards it in retaliation.

Subtly shifting muscles to ascertain the extent of the damage, Luc winces. The cut is narrow, but nearly to the bone. There are severed muscles and tendons, no doubt, and the pain is intense, to say the least. Still, one knows their own body best, and Luc is a paladin. A soft glow begins to emanate from the wound, and it slowly starts to heal.

In the meantime, however, Luc is at a severe disadvantage – the wound on his back severely limits his range of movements and the strength he can exert. He shifts into the defensive, using his shield more than his sword as he stalls for time – even while realising that the delay will similarly benefit his enemy.

A voice floats into his head. ‘Use the fork, Luc!’ Whether it’s from delirium or memory he isn’t sure, but at the moment he’s grasping at straws - Lily is out of mana, the priests are probably running low by now and there is visible exhaustion on the faces of the other paladins, even if he ignores his own predicament.

‘At worst, it might distract him for a moment.’ He thinks, pulling the fork out of the pouch and hurling it at the Lich.

Heavily doubting the potential lethality of even a high-velocity fork, but nevertheless concluding that it could in fact be a strangely shaped magical item, the Warlord attempts to slice it out of the air in an extraordinary display of hand-eye co-ordination… but the fork appears to shift in mid-air, evading the blade.

‘Do my eyes deceive me?’ Wonder both Luc and the Warlord, before Luc’s eyes widen, and the dark flame behind the Warlord’s eye sockets flickers slightly in shock. Still hurtling through the air, the fork stops its flipping and straightens out, morphing into an arrow-like form and greatly increasing in velocity.

Unable to react in time, the Lich stares in dumb disbelief as it shoots through the air towards it, over the heads of the skeletal soldiers… and then suddenly dips downwards, tearing through the Lich’s cloak and away again, the front of it now bulging strangely.

Speeding above the skeletons, just out of reach, it returns to hover before Luc. Uncertainly, he reaches out, and under his dumbfounded gaze its bulbous tip retracts, revealing a curious artefact that rolls onto his palm.

Spherical in shape, it appears to be made of mithril – although the metal has an odd reddish tint to it. It feels hollow, and Luc senses something wholly unholy dwelling within it. “The Lich’s phylactery!” He breathes, then ducks under the skeleton Warlord’s sweeping blade.

“STOP HIM!” The Lich shouts in rage, every skeleton in the room turning and running towards Luc. The Lich himself starts to chant, but as soon as he begins his voice changes to a scream of pain.

In Luc’s hand lies the phylactery, now wreathed in holy magic. Although the mithril casing is incredibly sturdy and would be nigh impossible for them to breach by ordinary means, Luc is a paladin. While others would have to break the container, he can attack the soul within directly, saturated with death energy as it is.

Of course, doing this is no easy feat – even more so when attempting it while also dodging and blocking the attacks of a highly skilled and powerful undead. But now that he doesn’t have to defeat the Warlord, he doesn’t bother attacking whatsoever, focusing solely and entirely on defence and running away from the crowd of undead solely and entirely focused on killing him.

So hellbent are they on killing him that they completely ignore the other paladins and priests, who now come up behind them and attack them from the rear. Mere seconds pass before the Lich lets out its last scream.

The other skeletons stop moving, the dark flames within them fading until they too fall. The skeleton Warlord looks at Luc, sword loosely held in one hand, and speaks his final words: “Fucking… Wizards…”

And then the room falls silent.

“Well, it could have been worse.” Sighs one of the priests. He looks towards Lily. “Can we please, please have a rest before we start looking through this place? Preferably outside?”

Lily smiles tiredly. “Of course. I think we’ve earned a little break.”

‘A ‘little’ break?’ The priest smiles stiffly. ‘Well, it could have been worse.’

Going back some ten minutes… again…

(POV Gerald)

When he finished that ritual/whatever-it-was, I knew something was up. It wasn’t just the large amounts of death energy hanging around him, or the fact that the amount of mana he had jumped hugely… it was the fact that a similar amount of death energy was condensed within a ball-like object.

So when Luc accuses the necromancer of giving up his humanity, gears start to turn. Necromancer? Weird ritual thing? Giving up humanity? He just became a Lich, didn’t he?

And if that was so, then that ball must be his phylactery. He… or it, I suppose… didn’t have time to hide it away after the ritual, so it just slipped it into a pocket in its cloak. A right shame, that. If it had hidden it, I would’ve been able to fetch it or direct them to it easy as blinking, without any of this fighting.

Speaking of fighting, there is a lot of it. Over here, over there, every-freaking-where. Let me just express my relief that we are inside and not outside. There are a lot of skeletons out there. A LOT.

Anywho, Luc gets into a fight with a big skeleton dude, and he doesn’t appear to be faring too well. They’ll probably die if I don’t do anything, huh?

‘Use the fork, Luc!’ I speak into his mind using my best wise old man voice.

He tosses me, and WOAH THERE, engaging evasive manoeuvres. Ahem. After dodging that skeleton dude’s broken blade, I use ye olde form manipulation to change myself into a more flight-worthy shape – forks aren’t exactly the most aerodynamic things.

I give myself a bit of a boost with a small ki blast and the absorb vacuum trick – try to hit me now, skeletons!

…Yes, yes I am flying way out of their reach.

There’s a problem – as I approach the Lich, I’m starting to take damage from absorbing the death energy. Absorbing the dude is a no-go, then – not that I want to.

Phylactery it is. I swoop down and utilise a bit of tricky form manipulation to encapsulate the phylactery – ow, ow, ow. I’m taking damage just from holding this thing. Let’s just get it back to Luc, let him deal with it.

Plopping down on his hand, I pop the thing out and repair myself. Job done.

A bit of a shame I don’t get any exp from this, but hey – Ferdinand’s got me covered there. Nearly 1000 exp came in from his side, and that’s only 5% of the total! Dude earned dang near 20k! Well, I’m glad that’s over.

…Oops.

Gerald: Status

Ferdinand: Status