Mask of Humanity

Nicolai was quick to check his UI, hoping it would tell him what was wrong with his Seed.

User Interface 376 | Player #53,217

- Cultivation

> Seed Progress

Soul: 15%

Oma: 12%

Warning: Seed is imbalanced.

Reason: Soul and Oma differ by significant margin.

He dropped the polearm and grabbed some Oma crystals. ‘There, there,’ he said calmingly to his Seed as it latched onto the first. He felt its pain as his own, but it was fading. It wasn’t damaged. It was just a little strained, that was all.

‘That was fast,’ said Kleos.

‘Yes,’ agreed Nicolai. ‘It can’t use too much Oma. Or perhaps, too much in a short period?’ He frowned at his Seed as it lunged for the next crystal in line, confused by the strength of his reaction, the flare of concern and worry he felt in response to its pain. It was very rare for him to feel such emotions toward anything or anyone but himself.

‘Not that, your progress. I’m not sure I’ve seen someone pick up shaping so fast.’ The head sounded impressed.

Nicolai turned away from the Seed to regard Kleos, uncertain. The praise made him feel slightly embarrassed. It had been a long time since anyone praised him for anything, and something within him felt that he was fundamentally undeserving of such praise.

He might have suspected the head of a bit of brown-nosing, doubted the sincerity of its words, but their agreement demanded Kleos be truthful in all that it said to him. He wasn’t entirely certain as to whether he trusted in that agreement, as he’d yet to see it tested. It was a matter of abstract golden lights and words within his UI. But, it was likely that if Kleos broke the conditions, he should at least receive some note about it. So, Kleos was probably being sincere.

‘Thank you,’ he said at last, feeling it was required of him.

His Seed ate a total of four Oma crystals to recover from its exertion and return to its previous level of seventeen-percent. Ten left, when he’d totalled eighteen upon returning yesterday. His supply was dwindling fast, and he was now realising his initial calculations for the amount needed to complete his Seed had been off. He hadn’t expected to start using up the Oma on Imbued items. But considering that increasing the Soul counter seemed the harder part and his current major bottleneck, he wasn’t overly worried by the expenditure of Oma.

User Interface 376 | Player #53,217

- Cultivation

> Seed Progress

Soul: 15%

Oma: 17%

‘My Seed feels strained, like a muscle used too much,’ he said to Kleos. ‘How long do you think it will take to recover?’

Kleos frowned. ‘Sounds like a bit of spirit strain. I’d give it a few hours at least before its safe to use again, but longer is better. Keep pushing it and you might do some damage. Spirit strain is a typical problem for young Cultivators, though given time and practise the spirit becomes more resilient. As to your Seed? I don’t know if it works the same, or a little different, or completely different, but I’m assuming it’s similar.’

‘I see,’ said Nicolai. It could take him much of the day, or even multiple days depending on the difficulties encountered, to bring low one of the archers and take their Imbued item. The Seed should have time to recover before he would next need to use it. He didn’t have any intention of utilising his Seed to activate the abilities of the footman’s mace in a real fight, so it would be spared that.

Doing so was simply too awkward, holding the Seed in his hand while also trying to grip the weapon. Fine for now while practising, sure, but in a fight? The skeleton had demonstrated how useful the winds could be, but Nicolai suspected he would fight worse, not better, trying to juggle the mental exertion of using the Imbuement, as well as trying not to grip to hard and squash his Seed, and then also worrying that a hit from an opponent might knock the Seed from his hand or squash it. He couldn’t risk any harm coming to it, it was too important.

Nicolai put his polearm aside, drank his fill of water, ate another section of the sustaining fruit, equipped himself with his armour, shield, two knives, a pouch with two Oma crystals on his belt, and the rapier in its sheath. It was light enough he didn’t mind taking it, figuring it would be useful against humans. He spun the polearm and it slapped into his palm, then checked the torch and saw it was still morning. He was ready. He saw Kleos looking at him. ‘Back in the jar?’ Nicolai asked.

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Kleos.

Nicolai smiled at the head. It was hard to be sure, but he thought he might be growing fond of it, as much as he was capable of feeling such emotions. It was useful, interesting, and polite.

After putting Kleos in the jar, he checked himself over one more time then set off. It was time to enact the first step of his plan to catch a flying archer.

###

Nicolai hovered where the longest corridor he’d found in the living quarters intersected another, and waited, the length of the long corridor stretching down away from him.

To his left and right, the intersected corridor extended in either direction a short distance. On the left side, it was crammed with random pieces of furniture he’d dragged from surrounding rooms, with one clear though restrictive path through it.

His polearm was leaning against the wall beside him, along with three short spears, and in his hands he held another short spear. Loot from a small gang of undead spearmen that had been sitting around in a room, perhaps skiving off the patrol job.

He had a plan that would get him what he needed to catch an archer. He wasn’t sure how well it would pan out, and he suspected that if Threat Analysis were with him, the Module would have had some choice words, but it was the best he could manage in a reasonable amount of time.

Nicolai had been exploring the living quarters for hours up ‘til now, and had made a few useful finds, the long corridor amongst them. The most useful of these finds, in his opinion, was the fact of the secret passageways.

He’d been moving down one corridor when the doors burst open around him and hooded undead wielding long knives emerged and set upon him. The memory made him smile. It had been a decent fight. After breaking most of them, one had ran into a room. Nicolai had approached at his leisure, knowing it had nowhere to go.

But when he looked inside, he’d had time to hear a scrape and see the wall closing up. A thorough examination later and Nicolai had found a hidden button that caused the wall to hinge open, a hidden door. The undead hadn’t been there, instead there was a slender tunnel leading away. Going to the end he’d found a lever which opened another wall, and there the undead had been surprised to see him, for the short time it remained standing.

Exploration and careful examination of many rooms had revealed more of these tunnels, and his map handily kept track of them once he’d found them. Then, looking at his map and seeing the places where the walls were wider than necessary, he’d been able to start working out where the hidden routes ran in a more comprehensive manner.

These hidden routes had proved very useful already. He’d been tracking the patrols and trying to learn their routes, finding that there were at least four separate though all equally large patrols of undead roving around this area. Once spotted he could quickly disappear into a nearby room and escape through one of the hidden entrances.

The little obstacle course of furniture he’d constructed filled the corridor between him and a room holding one such hidden entrance, which he’d left open, intending to use it as his escape route.

Nicolai tensed as he heard a faint scraping from down the long corridor, then the patrol sloughed around the corner. They were led as always by the dogs and the chain-hook wielding undead, then the knights, spearmen, fat wizard thing, and the archers.

In their time chasing him he’d found the dogs and the chain-hookers had a tendency to get a bit ahead of the others, especially when they had a nice straight route to run down.

Nicolai grinned, a little of the thrill flaring through him. ‘Hey!’ he yelled, and all the undead jerked to stare up at him. They weren’t great at seeing over long distances, but Nicolai gave them a hand, jumping up and down and waving his spear over his head.

In an instant the dogs were running with the chain-hook wielders right behind them, already spinning their hooks above their heads.

With all of them moving and filling the corridor rather than taking up their typical formation, he didn’t have to worry about the archers quite yet. Nicolai drew back the spear he held and took aim at one of the dogs as it surged forwards over the stone. He breathed slowly, focusing. His body snapped like a whip and he launched the spear forwards to slice through the air. There was still quite a distance between him and them and the dogs erratic movement brought it out of the way of the spear which hit the stone and skidded. No matter. Nicolai pulled another spear from the wall and took aim.

This time the spear took the dog right through its chest and it collapsed to the ground, catching at the feet of one of the hook-wielders who fell over it. The dog wasn’t dead because he hadn’t hit it in the head, but it wouldn’t do much more than get in the way with the spear sticking through it.

They were closer now, as he threw another spear. The next dog raised its head to snarl and took the spear right into the mouth, bursting out the back of its skull with a flare of blue light. The chain-hook wielder chasing behind it jumped over as the dog fell, and the next two also deftly avoided the corpse.

Nicolai had time to hurl another spear which punched through the chest of the chain-hooker at the back, sending it to the ground to tangle at the legs of the other charging undead. He picked up his polearm instead of the last spear.

Then the two remaining chain-hookers were close enough to do what they did best, launching their hooks at him. Nicolai backed up, eyes on the lengths of hook and chains unreeling towards him. He struck one from the air with his polearm, then raised his shield to block the next. As he’d hoped, it caught on the edge of his shield and he saw the hook-wielder set its feet to pull. Nicolai tossed his polearm behind him, grabbed the hook in both hands and pulled harder, snapping his body and wrenching the hook wielder off its feet and towards him. The undead tumbled and slid over the stone. The other was retracting its hook to prepare for another throw. The archers were taking aim over the heads of charging knights and spearmen.

Nicolai scrambled around the corner, one hand gripping the chain tight, then leaned out and snatched his polearm before darting back as arrows hissed past to clatter off the wall. He turned around with the hook in his hand and the chain digging into his shoulder and ran, jumping and twisting between the furniture he’d set up, dragging the undead behind him. The fucker wasn’t letting go. He exited his impromptu obstacle course and ran towards the room with the hidden entrance, then jerked to a stop, almost falling, as the chain snapped taut. Looking back he saw the undead was stuck, its body caught on the corner, arm and chain stretching away from it, over the furniture and towards Nicolai.

‘Come on, you bastard,’ he hissed, wrenching on the chain, getting his polearm tangled in it and using it to help him pull, and he saw one of the knights skid around the corner, a pair of spearmen and an archer following quick behind.

Nicolai relaxed so there was some give in the chain then wrenched at it again, seeing the undead hook-wielder’s arm jerking as he did so. It still wasn’t letting go. The knight ran into his obstacles and got stuck, thrashing around, too big and heavy, kicking at the furniture but just shoving it all together, then smashing its hammer into the wood which sent chips flying but did little else. The archer’s bow snapped and Nicolai ducked low, the arrow buzzing over him. The spearmen, which he’d considered the weakest and most useless members of the patrol, had jumped on top of the furniture and were running over them towards him, clearly intending to prove him wrong.

He needed a way to better express his strength. Nicolai moved to the side of the corridor and set one of his feet against the stone of an open doorway, then he pulled with his arms and shoved with his leg, straining and grunting, the undead still not giving its chain up. He dodged to the side into the room in time to avoid the next shot, another arrow clattering off the wall beside him. Then he reset his foot and strained and shoved and wrenched. He heard a distant pop, the chain came loose, and he toppled backwards, two spearmen filling the doorway as he rolled back to his feet.

This would be fine, except he was in the wrong room. The room with the hidden entrance was a few doors further on.

Nicolai charged towards the spearmen, waving his poleaxe, trying to scare them back, but they just set themselves and jabbed at him, taking full advantage of their range, knowing he had a difficult task if he wanted to get past them. Nicolai scampered back from the jabs then, out of options and time, hurled his polearm at one of them.

It smashed into the surprised undead and knocked it back, onto the ground. Nicolai charged forward, eyes on the other one which thrust at him. He deflected the spear point with his shield and crashed bodily into the skeletal spearman, knocking it down. He knocked an arrow that came at him aside, then, ignoring the struggling spearmen, he ducked down, grasped his polearm from where it had fallen and he was off, running, the chain clanking over the ground behind him. A glance back revealed they were all there now, a big struggling mass trying to shove their way through the furniture. He saw the fat one raise its staff high, the orb on the top glowing an ominous red.

Nicolai spotted an open doorway with a little end-table beside it. He’d placed the table there so he wouldn’t lose track of the correct room, and he dashed towards it with the chain scraping after him. He got inside and the open hidden doorway beckoned, but then the fucking chain got stuck again.

Nicolai tossed his polearm into the opening and turned. Snarling and cursing, he put his foot on the wall and heaved both-handed on the chain, and felt it stuck fast, unmoving. Then all at once something gave and he stumbled backwards, regaining his balance and reeling the chain in towards him as he backed up to the hidden doorway. The end of the chain slithered through the doorway and he saw it was attached to a rotted arm which ended in a ragged tear where it had been ripped from the undead’s shoulder.

He slammed the door closed just as the undead were boiling into the room, grabbed his polearm from the ground, and ran. He made quick speed down the dim, dark, cramped tunnel, polearm in one hand, chain and hook in the other, rotten arm trailing him. Nicolai pulled the lever at the end, opened the wall into another room, gathered in the chain fully until he held the rotted arm then slammed the wall closed and dashed out, finding himself back in the very same long corridor but now he was halfway down it, able to see the patrol in a heaving mass at the far end.

He ignored them and headed straight across into another room, found the hidden button to open this ones entrance, slid inside and through the tunnel.

A short time later Nicolai was away from them all, sitting in a room he’d identified as being a bit of a nexus for the hidden tunnels, lots of places to escape to. He was breathing heavily after all the running, but there was a grin on his face as he looked over the chain and hook he’d taken.

It wasn’t a particularly well-made weapon, a chunk of blackened iron with three curving hooks each ending in a nasty spike that were arranged triangularly, each hook pointing a different direction, the chain a bit malformed and heavier than he’d expected. But he’d seen how effective it was in practise and believed it was exactly what he needed.

The only thing wrong with it was the undead arm it was attached to. The end of the chain was wrapped tight around this arm, sunk into the desiccated flesh. It seemed that the hook-wielders were not exactly wielding the hooks, moreso the hooks were a part of them. He supposed if one was undead, pain wasn’t a problem.

It took a lot of wrenching, grunting, and a bit of smashing with his polearm and cutting with a knife, but eventually Nicolai stripped the chain from the dead thing. He attached it to the back of his belt, hook hanging down, and headed out.

The next item on his agenda was his true targets, the flying archers.