Eat And Grow 7 (1/2)
Sergeant Hargan ran as fast as he could through the forest. Two of his men followed behind him - one was a Warrior like the Sergeant, the other was a Paladin. Up in front was the three-man adventurer team that was part of his group. A Ranger, a Berserker and a Cryomancer, all human women. Even that extremely ripped and tall Berserker with the short hair. Just looking at her made one question if those things on her chest were breasts or pecs.
At least the Ranger and Cryomancer were more pleasant to look at. If he were a more indecent man, Hargan would probably relish the view of their tight butts as they strained against the two’s tight leather trousers. But he was not like that. He knew full well such thoughts had no place on the battlefield. Besides, his wife would probably murder him if she even suspected he was looking at young girls’ behinds.
The six of them were rushing towards the flare signal sent up by another team. The Ranger at the very front deftly and precisely navigated through the forest, while the Berserker mowed down any trees and monsters in her way with her gigantic sword. That Job was vastly different from Warriors that focused on fighting through techniques like blocking, parrying and riposting.
A Berserker was a killing machine that ran on anger, blood and death. Once the red haze enveloped them, they became unstoppable fighting machines that made one question who was the real monster. Even if they thrived in combat, the side-effects of their reckless fighting style meant their bodies were often left in a dire state. Ending a long battle riddled with wounds, bleeding heavily and with several broken bones was pretty much the norm for them. It was not a Job for the weak-hearted.
The Cryomancer on the other hand valued precision. Her main method of attack was launching shards of conjured ice at her opponents. She could also fire an icy beam that froze everything it touched or summon a localized blizzard to blind and confuse her enemy. All of those Spells required a high degree of accuracy to demonstrate their full effect. After all, if a Cryomancer’s enchanted ice pierced a flesh and blood body, it would almost always explode into shards. The unfortunate victim’s insides would be shredded by that frozen shrapnel, causing massive damage. A truly gruesome and ruthless method of attack.
One that Hargan hoped would be able to subdue this Sweeper. Another team had sent a flare, signaling they had confirmed its location. That was 15 minutes ago. Judging from how everyone was told to spread out, Hargan’s team would be the closest one to the distress signal. Thankfully, there was a tall pillar of smoke that rose up from the same direction, so they could easily find their bearings. And half a minute later, they would be at the scene.
The six of them burst out of the treeline into an unnatural clearing. Nearby was a small village - probably goblin in nature - that was set ablaze. The scenery between Hargan and that rampaging fire bore the scars of a fierce battle that was already over.
He immediately recognized two of his guardsmen. Mark and Harold were both slain, covered head to toe in wounds and lying in a puddle of their combined blood. It looked like the finishing blows were a sword through the throat for Mark and a small knife in the eye for Harold. The sergeant cursed under his breath. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about those opportunistic adventurers, but losing his men was another story.
A few meters away from those two was the body of a dwarven priest, his white robes dyed a crimson red. The left part of his head had been blown clean off, most likely by magic. Much like how that elven survivor had described it, the Sweeper had probably taken out the healer first.
About a dozen meters further away lay the corpse of that Rogue from The Dark Hand guild. Most of his right arm and left leg were gone, probably bitten off in the struggle. He had a small knife sticking out from his left shoulder, identical to the one lodged in Harold’s skull.
And sitting in front of the blazing inferno, hugging her knees and gently rocking herself back and forth, was the Witch, Xera. The sole survivor was making eerie sounds as she stared at the flames. It sounded like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to giggle or weep. Hargan, as the leader of his squad, signaled the others to move forward. They walked carefully towards her, keeping an eye on their surroundings. There were quite a lot of debris strewn around the place, so there was no telling where the Sweeper might pop out from.
Xera froze and went quiet when she heard them approach from behind her. After a few seconds she looked over her shoulder at them. After confirming their presence she returned her gaze to the dancing flames. The Witch then held out her right arm and pointed to the side with a slender finger, right at the smoldering lump of something some 15 meters away from her.
“It’s dead,” she muttered in a shaky voice. “It was heavily wounded after… killing the others. It tried to run, but I finished it off.” Having finished her bare-bones explanation, the poor woman withdrew her hand and resumed her earlier behavior.
The six that had just arrived at the grizzly scene shared a few difficult looks. They approached the supposed dead Sweeper. Once they got closer, they were able to confirm it. It was an organic chest with teeth. About two thirds of it were burned to a crisp, letting off a repugnant smell. There were three plain-looking and well-used swords on the ground around it. It sat there perfectly still, not showing a single sign of life.
Hargan stabbed it with his spear just in case. It penetrated deep into the corpse, causing a small trickle of yellow blood to leak out of the wound. Since he saw no notification that he had dealt a blow, it was certain the thing in front was actually dead.
“Stand down,” he ordered while relief washed over him. The thing that had murdered so many of his men was no more. He turned his attention back to the two dead soldiers. They volunteered for this, just like the others. Mark’s brother had been part of the patrol that disappeared in the cave, so to him this was more personal than anyone else. Harold acted like he was only in it for the money, but the sergeant knew that man always stood by his friends. So even if these two had to pay with their lives, he hoped they at least passed on with the knowledge they helped bring that monster to justice.
About ten minutes later, the rest of the punitive force arrived on the scene. Hargan brought them up to speed and informed them of the quest’s success and the terrible price it took on their side. He directed the rest of his men to throw together some stretchers so they can bring the bodies back to the city for burial. At least they had something to bury this time. The adventurers gave their condolences and lent a hand with the grim task.
Hargan walked up to Xera who was still hugging her knees on the ground. The fire had long ago been put out by the Cryomancer to prevent it from spreading to the rest of the forest, but the Witch still stared off into the distance beyond it.
“Are you alright?” he asked out of genuine concern.
“I’ll be fine,” came the immediate reply. “Please leave me here. I just… need to be alone right now.”
The sergeant sighed. Even if this adventurer was a high Level for this neck of the woods, it still didn’t feel right leaving a distraught girl alone in the forest like this. Still, with the Sweeper gone, he doubted anything in here could lay a hand on her. Her voice also seemed to have regained a bit of vigor, so he decided it wasn’t his place to interrupt her mourning.
“Understood. Please take care. Drop by the barracks later to receive your reward.”
The beauty looked up at him with a weak smile. She gave him a quiet “Thank you,” then turned her attention back to the frozen ashes in front of her. Hargan nodded then proceeded to lead the rest of the adventurers and guards back to civilization. They moved out while carrying the four mangled bodies on stretchers that were hoisted up on their shoulders. The whole thing could only be described as a funeral procession. Which was, more or less, the case.
Some half an hour later, the girl stood up. She walked over to a white rock poking out of the dirt and knelt before it.
The rock sprouted a yellow cat-like eye. The oddly rectangular stone wiggled itself free from the ground and stood up on six black spider-like legs. The white coarse surface melted into itself and transformed into a series of light oak planks bound by fake steel. The Mimic opened its mouth and a long, red tongue wrapped around Xera. Rather than fight or struggle, she just sort of let it happen.
It lifted her up, then slammed her head first into the ground. She let out a scream of pain while her face was dragged through the coarse dirt, disfiguring it horribly. This was her punishment for nearly messing things up. And, even though she wouldn’t admit it directly, deep down she really enjoyed the rough treatment.
In truth, Xera the Witch was not a real person. This being that was currently having her face dragged along the dirt was not even human. Her actual name was Xerababadubuth L’okrelaila, a Cerulean Succubus who served as the Mimic’s familiar.
When a Warlock or Witch performs Summon Familiar for the first time, they are given a choice. They had to pick which species of demon would best fit their needs. Four of their five options were the naturally large and tough Fiends, the many-eyed floating heads called Beholders, the vicious canine hunters known as Hellhounds and the mana-devouring spider-like Stalkers. The one this particular Warlock chose, was the final one - the conniving and treacherous succubi.
Succubi were demons that could alter their appearance through the Shapeshift Skill. They were well suited to infiltration, deception and taking advantage of the desires of others. It was a type of demon that was very close in its hunting habits to Mimics. One could say that the only real difference was the type of chest that was used as bait. In short, the succubus seemed like the perfect partner-in-crime to this enterprising spider-chest. And the one it was bonded to was Xerababadubuth L’okrelaila, or Xera for short. She was a Cerulean Succubus, which was a sub-species that relied on magic in combat and was capable of manipulating the minds of mortals by tampering with their dreams.