Mask of Humanity

‘Get moving,’ Nicolai grunted, forcing himself to his feet, forcing himself to put the Demon from his mind. He left the cell and began his journey back towards the prison.

The undead in the prison, mostly patrolling Wardens, seemed unaware of what had happened. Not a one of them glanced at him, but that was nothing new. With the band around his neck they usually ignored him unless he came close. He took the time to test this, stopping in front of a wandering Warden.

As it drew closer, it slowed, and hesitated, then its head lowered and it swung side to side, seeming almost to sniff, searching. Nicolai backed away when he heard its chains rattling, and he had to speed up in time to avoid a slow sweep as its chains writhed around it.

It seemed his concealment was not complete. They could sense him if he came close enough, and in fact reacted more than they had when he simply wore the band. He watched as the Warden moved on, and it moved now with alertness and suspicion, peering around and feeling at things with its chains. They didn’t like the scent of the Demon.

He wound through the prison to the pit, then made his way into the administrative building. The guards and the knights were less reactive than the Wardens, but they shifted and turned in apparent confusion and unease when he passed them by.

Nicolai headed down the corridors inside, following the route he remembered, and came to the smithy. The giant blacksmith sat in his chair, gazing listlessly into the flames, just as the last time Nicolai had seen him.

After a searching gaze from the doorway, Nicolai spotted a whole rack of the long rods which were the key to his band. They were behind the giant. Nicolai circled around the room, clinging to the walls.

He wasn’t sure how the giant would react if he drew near, and wanted to secure one of the key-rods before anything else. Once he had one, he hoped to speak to the giant. The giant clearly wished for freedom and he was pretty sure it was hoping he would grant it. This was an opportunity for them to speak without the undead around.

As he crept behind it toward the rack, the giant let out a sharp mutter and started from where it sat, the ground shaking as it rose to its feet, the chains that bound it clanking.

It turned a slow circle, peering into the dark corners of the room. ‘I smell you, demon-spawn, the stink of you,’ it murmured. ‘Come to finish the job, then? It won’t be easy.’ The giant grasped its hammer from the anvil, backing up to put the furnace to its back.

While it was doing this, Nicolai reached the rack and snatched one of the poles. Its eyes flicked over the moment he did so, then its arm whirled and snapped and the hammer flew out. Nicolai was already out of the way, running back towards the door, as the hammer crashed into the wall and cratered it with a deafening boom, the floor trembling. The giant raised its hand and the hammer rose then tumbled through the air towards it and was caught.

‘What is this?’ it hissed, peering around, its recessed little eyes uncertain.

Nicolai stopped in the doorway, and saw no one coming. Yet. He was certain the undead must have heard. This is probably a waste of time.

‘I am not a demon,’ he said, and ducked through the doorway and into the corridor. That turned out to be a wise move, as the hammer blasted through the stone of the doorway on one side, widening the opening and letting out a blast of dust and cracked masonry.

Nicolai let out a hiss of irritation as he ran. Clearly the giant would not be friendly while the Demon’s spell was on him.

There came the clanking of armour from ahead and a pair of hulking knights turned the corner and jogged towards him. They all but filled the corridor. Nicolai paused, watching them, seeing the flash of their legs and the sways of their armoured hips and shoulders, and he held the rod tight as he slid and twisted into the gap between them, fitting himself like a key in a lock.

A tight and pressing moment came as their armour brushed past him and then he was through and they hustled past. A glance over his shoulder revealed they had stopped, and were turning and peering around, confused. He didn’t wait to see what they’d do, continuing to his next target.

Somewhere in the building, a bell started ringing, loud and discordant.

The storage room was unguarded. The knights he’d passed must have been the sentries. Something not unlike the thrill of battle surged within him as he skidded into the room, a grin on his face, his eyes shining as he eyed the contents of the room, the dull tone of the bell echoing around him. The room was far from filled, most shelves and tables empty, but scattered throughout there were a few items.

The first thing Nicolai took as he skittered around the room was a convenient sack into which he stuffed a sheathed rapier, a metal ball, a little bar of metal reminiscent of a points tag, a small statuette of a turtle, a metal studded leather glove, and a keyring with two silver keys. One table held a pair of rings and an ornate necklace, which he put on his fingers and around his neck. He scanned the room, looking for anything else, disappointment rising as he realised that was all.

There was noise at the door and the two knights who’d meant to be guarding the place burst inside, and Nicolai heard the rattling of chains as a Warden swarmed into view behind them. The sight of them didn’t come as much of a surprise. It was only natural that with the good, came the bad.

But it was a problem and he needed to get out of the room immediately before more of them came, blocking the only exit and hemming him in.

The knights spread out, weapons drawn, moving along the walls either side of the room, while the Warden took up station in the doorway, its chains reaching into the room and feeling around. They didn’t seem able to see him, even with his Mark flashing and throwing out text.

Nicolai had pressed himself into a corner, held the key-rod between his arm and body, and opened the sack, picking out the first thing that presented itself, the glove. His fingers glowed gold as he examined it.

Shelter Glove

This glove is Imbued with a Symbiote of Shelter, and is capable of forming a barrier before the user. It is also hardy, knuckles and back plated with Infused metal.

Useful, but not for this particular situation. His hand touched on the rapier.

Darting Talon Rapier

This rapier is finely crafted, and Imbued with a Darting Talon Symbiote. When provided Oma it may move under its own power, controlled by the Cultivator’s Soul Sense.

Too slow, too difficult. His hand kept roving

Orb of Fire

Once charged with Oma this orb can be thrown and will detonate after a short delay.

Firepower, that was what he needed. Nicolai pulled the orb out along with his Seed from his mouth, then he put his Seed in his hand, touching the orb, while he held the rod and the sack in his other. He connected with his Seed, using it as a bridge to access the orb, then he started pushing Oma into it, holding the shaping tight as the orb began to glow red. Meanwhile he navigated between the tables toward the Warden. The orb throbbed, hot and energetic, and the shaping began to slip from his grasp, so he took aim.

It landed at the Warden’s feet and rolled beneath it. The Warden looked down and then its chains rushed at the spot, grasping for the orb, but before they could find it, there came a click.

An explosion of roaring fire slammed into the Warden from below, just about tearing it in half and launching it to crash into the ceiling and then it fell to slap into the ground, its chains falling with it. For a moment, the chains were slow and struggling.

Nicolai held the sack tight in one hand and the rod in the other as he dashed forwards, leapt over the Warden into the corridor, and fled. The Warden wasn’t quite dead, he knew that because of how the chains seethed and reached for him. One of them caught at his leg but he knocked it aside by flailing at it with the key-rod and kicking with his feet, and then he was past, heading off down the tunnel.

He dodged a few more undead and emerged from the building, seeing all them moving about in a confused, frenzied mass, searching for him, perturbed by the endlessly ringing bell. Those near turned in his direction and started forwards.

He ran away and saw them coming after slowly, confused, but aware he was near. It seemed the Demon’s spell was fading.

For a moment, Nicolai was pulled in two directions, unsure what to do. His stockpile of Oma crystals was just a short run away, at the start of the path winding down into the pit. There were plenty of undead between him and there. But for now, I still have a little time.

Ultimately, greed won out. Nicolai wanted the Imbued, and he wanted the crystals. He wanted everything, now and forever, as simple as that.

He dashed and dodged between the confused undead, which, in their mass, began to gradually follow after him, knowing vaguely where he was, searching him out. He charged down the path toward the crevice where he’d been squirrelling away his crystals, found it, shoved his arm inside, dragged the first bag bulging with crystals out and dumped it into his sack, then the next, then the third.

Throwing the now noticeably heavier sack over his shoulder, key-rod in his other hand, he raced back up the slope. The undead had followed and many were clustered at the top of the pit, beginning to head down. A big crowd of them, practically filling the space. Mostly miners but also Wardens and knights and more.

Nicolai threw himself into them and thrashed like a fish, holding the sack tight to him as he snarled and shoved and squeezed. The packed-tight undead gave before him, some of them tumbling off the edge of the path to fall into the pit. They reacted with increasing awareness, flinching when he touched them and trying to reach for him, but they were still slow, still struggling to perceive him.

He ripped the fetid fingers that caught at his clothes away, he kicked and shoved them out of the way, he wrenched the sack free from their grasping hands, laying about himself with the key-rod which he used like a staff, making all the use he could of it in the tight press. One benefit of this tight press was that the Wardens' chains struggled to reach through and find him. He squirmed and squeezed his way through and out the back of the crowd.

Panting, Nicolai emerged from the far side and settled into a staggering run, his fingers checking the sack for damage, fearful of his goodies falling out from an unseen hole. It was fine and everything was still there, the key-rod in his other hand seeming equally fine.

He’d gotten away with it.

Nicolai let out a jagged laugh as he lumbered, panting, away from them, and the undead twitched and came after him, but they were still too slow, too confused, and he too quick.

He fled into the prison and their numbers fell, though as time went he felt the spell fading further and the few undead he encounterd started to react more strongly, sensing him from further away. Regardless. he made it all the way to the tunnel and then, at last, he was away, his escape complete. He scuttled through the dark, found the torches he’d left, lit them and headed on to safety.

As he moved he considered what he’d gained, what he’d learned, and what he’d released.

Nicolai knew he was a selfish, greedy bastard.

It was clear to him that in Paxolnaz he had freed something truly terrible, a creature of pure malice and evil.

He’d met a number of beings in this place, but until recently Nicolai couldn’t have said that any of them were actually worse than him. He was well aware that his heart was black, his hands were red, and his efforts to change were, so far… limited. That was, until now. Paxolnaz and the Centipede were worse than him, and his actions had aided them.

But, better all that, and free from the prison, and my Seed complete, and carrying this sack of treasure, than dead in the depths.

A grin tore across his features as he clutched the sack to him, and he felt at the strength and power burning from his Seed, and he knew that given the same choices, he’d do it all again; exactly the same.

Except for Harold, some part of him reminded himself, and then Nicolai’s mind spun into a dizzy maze of hypotheticals as he imagined himself going back in time. How would things change, if, knowing what he knew now, he attempted to save Harold? Would he still be able to get all the things he had gotten (because in no world would he be giving up this sack and all it contained)? Was Harold the price that had to be paid to get his hands on the Heart, guarded by the Centipede? What if this imaginary regressor Nicolai, in an attempt to save Harold, went to the Heart without the man… and the Centipede killed him?

Nicolai was uncertain as to exactly how important Harold had been to him. But he was very clear on how important he was to himself. If he could go back, he’d make an effort to save Harold. But he wouldn’t get himself killed; not on Harold’s behalf, not on anyone's behalf.

Thinking of the event, that moment with the Centipede, reminded him of something else. His Soul Sense wasn’t fool-proof. The Centipede had somehow hidden from it, pretending to be stone. He’d been literally walking over it, his Soul Sense pressing against it, but still he hadn’t detected it. It was a matter he’d have to ask Kleos about.

He put the thoughts from his mind and pushed on, the smile creeping back over his features. Today has been a great day.