Birds Of A Feather 5 (1/2)

Jen kept marching onward, concentrating solely on putting one foot in front of the other. She had been at this for what seemed like hours, but it was difficult to accurately gauge the passage of time. At least there was no chance of getting lost or anything since there were no side paths, doors or even turns to the dimly lit hallway she was in. It was so perfectly straight that it seemed to stretch out into infinity ahead of her, making it impossible to tell how long the passage actually was. The only thing she had to worry about was getting turned around since there were no markings or decorations to help her determine if she was still going the right way. Not even the torches lining the walls to her left and right would be of any help since they all looked identical as far as the Monk could tell.

And though ‘keep walking straight’ seemed like a simple enough idea in theory, this hallway was full of… distractions.

“Please, help me! Orcs captured my daughter, you have to save her!”

What looked like a distressed human villager stood in Jen’s way, but she didn’t even slow down as she pushed him over just by bumping into him. The man fell to the ground hard and practically groveled as he continued to plead for help to no avail. He even went as far as to try to grab the Monk by the feet, only to have Jen effortlessly slip her legs out of his grasp without even breaking her stride. She was so completely unaffected that it was almost as if he wasn’t there at all.

Which, for all intents and purposes, was the case. Though the illusion of a villager in peril looked, sounded and even felt extremely convincing, it was ultimately just that - an illusion. Nothing more than a puppet made from light and magic that vanished like mist in the wind mere moments after being left behind. It was not the first time Jen had encountered such an entity, nor was it the last. In fact, a new petitioner had shown up before the previous one had fully disappeared. This time it was an injured raptor soldier sitting with his back against the wall to the left, the massive wound across his chest bleeding profusely with every pained breath he took. His scales were also literally peeling off of his face like snowflakes, suggesting there was more wrong with him than just physical trauma.

“Please, stranger,” he whispered at Jen, “give me a clean end. Koff! Koff! I implore you, free me from this agony…”

He too was summarily ignored. As were the children begging for food, the armed knights challenging her to a duel and the brigands demanding payment for safe passage. One after the other these apparitions assaulted Jen, attempting to either tug at her heartstrings, get on her nerves or appeal to her love of combat. They had been doing that ever since that glowing doorway set her on this path, so it was quite obvious they were all a part of some bizarre mind game between herself and the dungeon.

Having worked alongside a Psionic for many years, Jen knew full well that even responding to these illusions could open her up to a more powerful mental attack. Her Scribe Job did allow her a measure of defense against such things thanks to the Domination Resistance Skill, but she was doubtful whether it would help her in this situation. The Gauntlet scaled in difficulty to truly challenge the ones seeking to conquer it, so it was safe to assume any mental attacks it used on her would easily overwhelm her relatively tiny MNT.

Therefore, the best course of action was to ignore these things completely, which was precisely what she did. With little difficulty, too. It was debatable whether this was due to her warped personality, because her training as a Monk allowed her to maintain a firm grip on her emotions, or a mix of both. Ultimately the only thing Jen’s mind was focused on was clearing the dungeon, which was why she resorted to that surprise attack in the duel against Fizzy. Though she did feel a twinge of regret for doing that instead of challenging her normally, she already knew she had no way of winning in a straight up fight. Having seen her fight the monsters in the early stages of The Gauntlet made that abundantly clear.

Truthfully she somewhat envied the golem’s physical prowess and resilient constitution, but ultimately the radiant construct proved to be nothing more than a power leveler. Just another inexperienced fool that coasted on their inflated power without even learning how to control it effectively. At least that six-armed fiend Boxxy threw at her had realized her mistake after their first bout and had gone to great lengths to correct her failings by the time they faced off in Watford. Fizzy, on the other hand, seemed far too arrogant and full of herself to strive to improve beyond just ‘stacking numbers.’

Then again, the Monk was a firm believer in the ludicrous idea that ‘real fighters talked with their fists,’ so there was a good chance her conclusions were based on imagination rather than fact.

“You always lacked foresight, you know that?”

Jen’s attempts to distract herself with introspective were suddenly put to a halt when she heard that gritty voice. It was a tone she was very well familiar with, but also one that she did not expect to hear again. On the other hand, this Hero tryout was administered by the recently deceased holder of the title, so meeting her old boss in this place was perhaps not all that strange.

“Always running around and doing what you want without any regard for the consequences, like a child playing grown-up.”

Even if it was just an illusion, the fact that it bore Edward’s form and spoke in his voice made it impossible for Jen to just walk past it. The way the apparition leaned its shoulder against the wall with arms crossed and venomous scowl was just like him, too.

“Your attitude has its uses, I suppose,” he continued. “It made you easy to control. I just had to point you in a certain direction and you would carry out your orders without question, no matter who your target was. Too bad, it was also a massive pain in my ass. You ended up turning at least half your missions into war zones. That’s why I gave you that callsign to begin with, you know.”

It was at this point that Jen realized she had stopped in her tracks to listen to the fake Spymaster. She hurriedly resumed her stride down the stone hallway, doing her best to stay calm.

“Face it, Zone!” Edward shouted after her. “You’re nothing more than a beast in the skin of a woman!”

Her face was still as cold as ever, but her quickened pace suggested those words had gotten to her. The apparition then went quiet after that. It likely faded away into thin air, though Jen refused to look over her shoulder to check. Unfortunately for her, it wasn’t the last ghost of the past to be dredged up by the dungeon.

“I am disappointed in you, Jennifer.”

Up next was Milo Faehorn, her once comrade who she had personally thrown to his death during the Calamity Conflict. The old elf stared at her with that strict, demanding glare of his, which was impressive considering most of his face had been squashed flat, presumably from his landing.

“I thought you better than associating with scum like the Emperor’s spies. You may have been a bit… odd, but at least you knew who your friends were.”

“You were weak, old man,” she couldn’t help but respond. “You couldn’t do anything by yourself.”

“Yes… that’s right,” he agreed after a short pause. “We all were like that, back in the day. None of us would have survived as long as we did if we hadn’t put our lives in each other’s hands. We had our differences, but I always considered you to be one of us, Jennifer. That is why I am so disappointed that it was you who ended my life.”

Jen once again forced herself to move forward, practically breaking out into a run in an effort to put some distance between herself and that unpleasant thought. Truth be told, she always harbored a bit of resentment for having to do what she did to the grizzled Ranger. He deserved a better end than simply being thrown to his death. However, it couldn’t be helped. Such was the cruel reality of war between nations.

Wait, why was she even giving that illusion the time of day? Jen shook her head and attempted to get her rampant thoughts under control, but found it difficult to calm down with all these non-people badgering her every step of the way. Each of them had been dredged up from her past and served as a reminder of her every failure. She was even sure she caught a glimpse of her late raptor father, who merely shook his head in disbelief as she passed by.

And then, out of nowhere, Jen felt herself fall. She plummeted downward, tumbling and spinning like a rock that had rolled off of a cliff. She landed on a patch of hard-packed yellow dirt before the thought of using her angelic wings even occurred to her. The hard impact with the ground seemed to snap her out of her anxiety, thereby putting a halt to her mild panic attack.

The Monk rose to her feet, only to find she was now back in the arena where she fought Fizzy, with Hesk’s ghost standing opposite her.

“Did you enjoy the Walk of Solitude?” the specter asked her calmly. “Probably not. It is… quite unpleasant.”

“… Affirmative.”

“That bloody corridor, it tries to open all of your old wounds. It even digs up memories you yourself had either forgotten or repressed,” Hesk explained in a spiteful tone. “The important thing is that you made it out of there, which means we can proceed with the final test.”

“Reporting that I am prepared,” the Monk immediately said.

“No, you are not,” Hesk replied grimly. “Nobody is truly prepared for the burden of being a Hero of the Sword.”

“I can handle it,” Jen insisted. “Requesting that we proceed with the trial.”

“If you’re so eager to begin then you best center yourself. Your opponent should be here shortly.”

The Monk didn’t even get the chance to ask what Hesk meant by ‘opponent’ when she heard another familiar voice, this one coming from above her.

“Cuuuuuunt!”

Something heavy, black, short and rude slammed into the arena with the grace of a drunken kraken on ice. The newcomer slowly stood up amidst the cloud of dust its crash landing had kicked up, cursing and swearing under their breath all the while.

“I swear, if I don’t get to hit somethin’ I’m… What in my grandfather’s beard are you doing here?!”

It was Hilda.

The notion that this might be another illusion crossed Jen’s mind, but seeing the dwarf bring out her favorite two-handed axe from her Rearm Skill made it abundantly clear this was not the case. Not to mention that, even if they were technically solid, those apparitions the Monk saw earlier were extremely fragile. They would not survive a landing as hard as the one she had just seen, not to mention they were not heavy enough to make the ground tremble.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied while readying her own staff.

“Me? I’m aimin’ fer the Hero title, of course! Why the bloody fook else would I be here?”

“How did you find this place?”

Though this dungeon’s existence was not the best kept secret, it was also not what one would call ‘public knowledge.’ Jen herself only knew of it because she used to belong to a temple of Axel here on Velos during her youth.

“Uh, my grandfather was a Hero of the Sword? Duh?”

“Ah, no wonder that weapon is so familiar,” Hesk remarked while glancing at the ridiculously large axe in Hilda’s hands. “The one who administered my exam held one just like it.”

Incidentally, he was also the individual who said Kaede was ‘kind of a cunt’ during the most recent invocation of the Eternal Crusade against Gutzstompa. Not that Jen had any way of knowing that, though she really should have remembered the Berserker’s grandfather was indeed a Hero of the Sword. In fact, Hilda herself had mentioned it numerous times back when she, Jen, Faehorn and Lichter still travelled together. Dwarves exalted their family’s lineage, history and accomplishment, so it was only natural she wouldn’t shut up about it.

“So what’s the deal, Hesk? Why’d you let this problem child even attempt the trials?” the dwarf asked while jerking her head towards Jen.

“Axel has given her a chance to prove she is capable of redeeming herself,” was the ghost’s dry answer. “Which brings me to the topic at hand. As you might have guessed, this is another trial of combat. Not against an ally, but a rival. The rules are the same as before, except this time there is no time limit.”

Hesk clapped twice, and just like before the pageantry, decor and heraldry fell away, leaving nothing behind but a ring of dirt floating amidst a sea of darkness.

“You may begin.”

Those three words barely even left the ghostly raptor’s mouth before Hilda hurled her axe at Jen. It was dodged effortlessly, after which it fell into the surrounding abyss. The dwarf then surged forward with a war cry and a smaller axe in each hand. Unlike when these two last met at the siege of Fort Yimin, the dwarf was skipping the warm up and jumping straight into the consecutive rapid strikes to try and overwhelm the Monk’s defenses. Jen, however, had also picked up a thing or two since then, and used her staff’s reach to strike at the Berserker while dancing around just outside of her shorter effective range. The raven-haired human wasn’t doing a lot of damage this way, but she was taking none in return, so this strategy worked out for her.

At least for a time, until Hilda changed up her approach. She did that so many times over the course of the fight that the other combatant completely lost count. Spears, staves, daggers, poleaxes, swords, shields, bows, crossbows, smoke bombs, hammers, maces, flails, axes, spiked gauntlets - every weapon under the sun and then some was brought to bear against the angelic Monk. All while throwing out so many Martial Arts that Jen couldn’t help but think even Rogue and Ranger moves were mixed in there. Hilda kept varying up her assault, emptying her pocket arsenal at such a rate that the ring quickly started to look like a full blown skirmish had taken place what with all the discarded weaponry. She also changed gear sets as well, swapping between equipment that boosted either her speed, strength or defenses to keep her opponent guessing and on her toes.

As the duel progressed, Jen found herself sinking deeper and deeper into a battle trance, her focus and concentration climbing to levels she didn’t think possible. In here, there were no superior officers barking orders, no random soldiers prancing around a chaotic battlefield, and no larger picture to be aware of. Just her, her opponent, the ground underneath her feet, and the breath in her breast. Jen hadn’t even realized she was sporting the biggest grin of her life as she kept dodging and weaving between a hailstorm of blows, nor did she have any idea how long the fight had gone on for.

But, like all good things, it had to eventually come to an end. The fight drew to a close when Jen kicked one of the dwarf’s custom-made shields, sending it flying from its resting place on the ground straight into her arm. The metal disc’s sharpened edge sliced deep into the inside of her left elbow where there was a gap in the armor, lodging itself all the way to the bone. Of course, being a Berserker meant that this deep cut only made Hilda that tiny bit stronger, but at the same time robbed her of the use of one of her arms.

The Monk then stepped aggressively forward, thrusting at her opponent’s other arm. Her adamantite staff had been bent in several places and she was missing an eye thanks to a well-timed trident throw, so it was not an accurate a strike as she would have liked. Even if it was sloppy, however, the thrust made impact with the dwarf’s limb all the same, slamming into the battered armor hard enough to break the bone underneath, just below the shoulder.

With both of her arms injured, Hilda finally relented. The blazing rage burning within her eyes began to die down and the twin swords she was holding slipped out of her grasp. She stumbled backwards for a few steps and then, finally, fell over with a pained groan and a loud thud. The impact made her helmet roll off her head, revealing her bloodied and beaten face as she gasped for air, eyes rolling around in a dazed state.

Though she put up an admirable fight, Hilda’s broken body and shallow breaths were a testament to Jen’s prowess when it came to the art of armed melee combat. And with the Berserker’s various blood-rage effects subsiding, she was made acutely aware of the unimaginable pain coursing through her entire being. She couldn’t even tighten a fist, let alone swing a weapon. To say that she had been defeated would have been a gross understatement.

In her delirious state, she didn’t even notice the butt of Jen’s staff as it stamped down on her forehead, cracking her skull and driving it into the dirt. The Monk didn’t let her off with just that one hit, as she repeated the motion again and again, flattening Hilda’s head into a disgusting mess of blood, brains and bone while sporting the smile and eyes of a madwoman. She kept beating the dead dwarf over and over for a solid minute before her battle frenzy finally began to subside.

As the Monk’s adrenaline rush wore off, all of the injuries she had sustained throughout the fight cried out at once. It was now Jen’s turn to stagger and stumble, forcing her to lean against her staff while panting heavily in an effort to avoid falling over. It didn’t do much good as all strength and energy drained away from her body, forcing her knees to buckle and her butt to hit the blood-soaked dirt underneath.

It was at this moment that Hesk’s spirit chose to show herself in front of Jen once more.

“Well… I guess that settles that, doesn’t it?” she said in a casual manner.

“Indeed it does.”

A second voice echoed throughout the arena, this one deep and smooth, not at all hissy or throaty like the spectral lizard’s. Jen didn’t even have a chance to collect her thoughts when the ground she was sitting on began to rumble and quake. It fell out from under her and the woman felt herself plummeting into nothingness once more.

“RRAAAAH!”