70 Order (2/2)

My plan hinged on that factor. So far, I learned two things from the hands and mask. First, just because the monster beneath it died, that didn’t mean the hand or mask had. Second, the hand controlled people by pouring miasma into it. The mask stabbed its feelers into the target, controlling the brain directly. If I was right, I could abuse these factors.

Praying for the best, the hand snapped onto my right wrist, pouring the miasma into my armor. My armor gorged on the energy, filling like a hungry animal. As I ducked, deflected, and weaved between the strikes of the four-armed Enigmatta, I sunk my armor’s tendrils into the hand on my wrist.

As the armor’s tendrils finally sunk into the hand, another whipping arm struck my back. My legs failed me as I fell to the ground. The hit had severed my spine. As I landed on the ground, I redirected oppression from the giant mound of flesh onto the four-armed zombie. This stunned it, making it fumble backwards.

Crawling with my arms, I gripped onto the monster before chomping into it with my armor teeth. Another whipping strike hit my back, dipping my health down to less than 5%. The edges of my vision blurred black. My arms grew weak. My eyelids grew heavy. My breathing hastened. My eyes dilated. A deep unease overtook me. For a fraction of a second, I walked along the edges of despair.

Thoughts passed through my mind. Even if I did kill these Enigmatta, would I be able to kill the amalgamation? I hardly beat an abusive, alcoholic man. Versus Baldag-Ruhl, I only beat him with Alfred worm’s help. Most of the fights past that had been easy and simple affairs. There wasn’t true struggle. There wasn’t true despair. My arms turned numb. My eyes went blank.

No one was here to help. It was now or never. I dug into the pits of my will. I dived into the abyss. I crushed the last shred of weakness in me. I sacrificed who I was, for who I wanted to be. A force of nature, something unstoppable. A cataclysm, a tempest, even a monster, I channeled the fear I felt. Fear of death? No, I would fear my own weakness.

I commanded my eyelids to open, and so they did. I demanded my arms obey, and so they moved. I roared at my hands to ball into fists, and so they clamped with force to bend steel. I lunged forward and tore into the throat of four arm. I gnashed and chomped and tore. I urged my armor to send spikes through the monster, tearing him apart.

I did so, even as blood poured from my own mouth. The sound of a whip surged in my ears. This strike would end me, but I wouldn’t die groveling. I would go down biting at their heels. Before the strike landed across my back, the death notification for the monster appeared.

Almost as if in slow motion, I opened my status screen and poured all my points into willpower. I prayed it was enough. The points adjusted, and the perk screen appeared.

Legion of One (Have 1000 points in a single attribute before level 1000, Willpower over 1000) – Within you, the might of many is made one. Every eldritch killed over level 1000 adds another year of life. Immunity to corruption and mental attacks. +10% more mana regen (Health Regen due to Arcane Blood), internal motivation, and augmentation affinity per 1000 points in willpower. You may choose to add 1/10th of willpower to any attribute besides Endurance or Willpower. You may now unlock a legacy.

Mentally, I selected the perk screen.

Which attribute will you select for the 1/10th addition? Con, Strength, Intel, Luck, Char, Dex, or Per?

Once again, I used a thought to select constitution. The rush of clarity filled my head, even as it grew and expanded. The whipping strike lashed out against my back. I grinned at the hit. It wouldn’t be enough now. On my left wrist, another hand latched onto my arm. Draining the energy and health from the hands, my feeling in my legs came back.

I stood before turning back towards the whipping zombie. He struck out towards me. My hand moved like swimming through molten lead, but it couldn’t resist the mandate of my will. I deflected the whipping strike, my health coming back. Lucidity returned. My senses sharpened. My strength built.

I walked over towards the Enigmatta, deflecting strike after whipping strike. With each step, I grew bolder. With each deflection, I learned the movements. Once I reached it, my ascendant mana returned. Power flooded my veins. Energy swarmed my blood. Might engulfed my bones.

I turned on my heels, driving a hook like thunder into the monster’s face. The head exploded before I shot another hook into its chest. Even as the flesh fell apart, I delivered punishing blow after pushing blow. I would leave nothing left.

Once the Enigmatta disintegrated, I heaved out a heavy sigh. I turned towards the ball of flesh, moving oppression over where it was. It wasn’t malformed meat anymore. The body of it condensed, creating a smooth, dull, and yellow armor. It had two massive, muscular legs that it stood on. With six arms, it opened its hands, brandishing spikes of sanguine color. The mask melted onto the face, creating a thickened plate of armor attached to its face.

That armor split as a mouth and four eyes opened. It stood ten feet (3 meters) tall, towering and massive. As it moved, the earth shook beneath its steps. Turning to me, black lines formed over the yellow carapace. The slabs of muscle on its back rippled as it tested its new-found form. I sighed with relief as I identified it. While strong, it wouldn’t be overwhelming.

Typhon, Mover of Mountains (lvl 1131) – Created by a conglomeration of Yawm’s mutant plague plus the purple miasma of Bloodbull’s mask, Typhon is mighty. By fusing the bodies of different species with different chaotic energies and forces, the mask of Bloodbull sacrificed itself to become this monster.

And a monster it is. The six arms are powered by the thick musculature of its back. The senses of the creature can see and smell food from kilometers away. Its roar is loud enough to be considered a sonic attack. Its arms are numerous, and it uses them like weighted clubs. The black lines that traverse its yellow, armored hide can grow, turning the monster into a shadow.

This makes it immune to physical attacks, outside of its core that’s left open during this maneuver. Fighting this head on is a recipe for disaster.

After fighting the four-armed Enigmatta, I decided on a different approach. Boundless Storm could only cover so much distance in physique and levels. Facing something this much stronger and bigger than me when I didn’t have to could be summed up in single phrase; it was a straight up dumb as fuck.

Besides that, what if it revived some of the other corpses left here? I didn’t want to be caught fighting an endless army of reviving flesh. Instead, I set my stance far away from it. The monster turned towards me, annoyed by oppression as it heaved for breath. Drool leaked from between its yellow teeth, and as it breathed in, I covered ears with my armor.

The roar created a sonic boom, the sound passing through my body. It was so loud, the vibrations shook my bones. If it wasn’t for blocking my ears, they’d be busted again. I wouldn’t let that shit keep going on. Guarding my senses took more priority now. All the higher-level enemies seemed to have dozens of ways to destroy them after all.

I kept steady, using oppression as my damage instead of running towards the monster. It breathed in once more, firing a cannon of sound towards me. The same vibrations passed through me before I grinned. If that was all this thing had, the fight was good as over.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t. The monster dashed towards me, crawling like a spider on all six hands. Instead of running away, I burrowed into the ground with my new drill arm technique. The spines dug into the ground while I unblocked my hearing and used it to keep oppression over Typhon. It dug towards me, chasing me for a minute or two before I resurfaced.

It busted out of the ground before I sprinted away towards the trees. My red mana pulsed as I stampeded with all my might. The creature chased not far behind. It caught up to me right as we reached an untarnished patch of forest.

It dashed towards me, but I leapt upwards, onto a tree. Dispersing my weight with Telekinesis, I could land on trees to make the process easier. The monster crashed through a tree trunk before turning back to me. It slammed into the tree I was on as I leapt to another one.

Again and again, the process repeated. After ten minutes of jumping between trees. Typhon seemed exhausted. The whole time I kited, I molded oppression over the monster. Sliding the aura between trees was the only hard part, but I got the hang of it quickly. Over time, Typhon slowed down to an abysmal crawl. This was like an advanced level of the strategy I used to kill my first BloodHollow bat.

Oppression didn’t have insanely high damage against tankier foes, but it whittled them down over time. In this case, the strategy proved undeniably effective. So effective, the monster quit moving with the same speed and voracity as before. After realizing my plan, the monster tried escaping. It was too late.

I leapt from tree to tree, keeping pace with the monster. It turned back towards me several times, but I would leap away from it until its escape. Frustration set in, making the movements of the creature wilder. During this time, the hands on my chest and wrists disintegrated into nothing, my gorger of mana skill absorbing them.

Watching the mighty beast fall to such simple tactics was almost sad. Almost. Once it slowed to a crawl, I leapt on top of it. The sheer tenacity and strength of its build was stolen by oppression. Crushing it from there proved simple. By the time I was swimming in the creature’s blood from beating the shit out of it, I finally gained the notification I was looking for. It died.

With great anticipation, I checked out my level with my fingers crossed. If I gained too many levels, I wouldn’t be able to get my last level 1000 perk, which would suck. I covered my eyes at first, but I forgot the status screens couldn’t be blocked from my vision, even by blindness.

When I saw my level, I sighed with relief. I’d walked a fine line, right along the edge of a razor.

Level 997. It was time to see my spoils.