What the Shell?, page 12
After the orc's swift beheading of the zombie, Phac had sat him down and had a long talk about how they should be a bit more discreet, to the latter’s dissatisfaction.
“I’m just saying,” Oreg insisted, huddled next to Phac in the bush, “that if we kill them all, there will be no one to notice us.”
Phac facepalmed. “Oreg, I don’t think that’s how it works. The swamp is not too big, so if we kill their patrols, they’ll know something is up, right? And if they are on guard, then we will never be able to ambush them.”
“Well, so what?” grunted the orc. “Ambush or not, we can easily deadize the necromancer once the zombies are dead.”
Phac blinked. “Dead-what?”
“Deadize. Another word for ‘kill.’ To make something dead.”
“Did you just make that up?”
“It's an expression, you inappropriately-clothed monkey,” replied Oreg, face as innocent as that of a ten-year-old who hasn’t done their homework—or, at least, that’s what Phac assumed. He still hadn’t gotten used to the orc’s expressions and couldn’t tell when he was joking. Perhaps he wasn't.
“Whatever.” He sighed, pushing a branch aside to look at the patrolling zombie. “Just let me handle this, okay? I’ve got this.”
The orc huffed but didn’t reply, acknowledging that he wasn’t a master strategist. As he’d revealed earlier, orcish warfare consisted of rushing, smashing, and slashing, usually in that order. Planning was not included. The enemy couldn’t harm you if they’re dead, right?
“Let’s go,” said Phac after the patrolling zombie had gone out of sight. Rising from the bush, he scratched his naked torso. His high Constitution made his body harder, but the bush’s sharp branches and leaves still scratched him uncomfortably and made his skin itch, not to mention that his bare feet were by now caked in mud and who knows what else. At least his more tender parts were kept safe by the pouch-underwear.
Watching their step, they proceeded toward the towering structure that loomed close. After a few hours in the swamp, they’d almost reached it, and, as a result, the patrols they encountered had only increased in frequency. The swamp’s plant life was thankfully dense enough to keep them hidden from the zombies.
Trees with soft, thin trunks frequently adorned the swamp, with purple fruit that Oreg advised against touching hanging from their soft branches. Said branches, like the trees themselves, were bent, as if the trees were trying to touch the ground from high up where they stood. Bushes featuring strange, elliptical leaves were also common, these ones doubling as good hiding places.
Curiously, they were dense on the outside but hollow on the inside, save for a few small branches, making one wonder just why they would grow in such a strange way. When inquired, Oreg had no idea.
Crouching between a tree and a bush, the two men stopped and gauged the situation. Before them lay a small lake of dark green, muddy waters. In the middle of it stood a towering structure made of black bricks, only some a few dozen meters away, occupying most of the small island it had been built on.
The tower was round, easily ten meters in diameter, and twenty high, maybe more, while its top was adorned with ramparts. A closed, dark wooden door stood at ground level, and, from their vantage point, only a single window was visible near the middle of the tower, barely large enough to fit a man. It was too dark to see inside, unfortunately.
In front of the door began a shabby-looking wooden bridge, stretching all the way to the edge of the lake and connecting the small island to the surrounding swampland. Though the bridge looked shaky and rotten, one could probably attempt to cross it if they didn’t fear falling into the dirty lake.
The zombies had no qualms doing exactly that as Phac and Oreg watched a single zombie exit the tower and walk over the bridge. It fell midway but didn’t mind, continuing to walk through the neck-deep water until it reached the shore.
As if to enhance this environment, dense clouds had obstructed the sun, giving the place a haunted type of feeling which, in all honesty, wasn’t too far off the mark.
“Well, if I was a necromancer, that’s definitely where I’d live,” commented Phac, making sure to stay out of sight of the zombie stumbling through the muddy waters. “This place is creepy as hell.”
“Mhm,” Oreg grunted in affirmation. “Makes sense,” he whispered, and thankfully, the zombie was far enough not to hear the warmonger orc’s not-a-whisper.
“Okay,” said Phac, turning to look at the green warrior, “how do we get in? Any ideas?”
“None that you’d like,” replied the orc, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “If the bridge can barely hold the zombie, I doubt it could hold me.”
“Not to mention that we’d be clearly visible to anyone watching.” Phac nodded in agreement. “I would rather avoid swimming through that, however. It’s disgusting, and God knows what’s hiding in there.”
He glanced over the lake surrounding the tower’s island, its dark green surface making the waters beneath it opaque. There was even a faint smell emanating from the water and small green specks floating in it, bringing to mind the dirty waters of a port. Why Phac would be familiar with such waters, he had no idea. Just one more mystery to solve. If I tried to make a list of them, I’d probably run out of paper.
“We could always storm the place,” suggested the orc.
“We could…” Phac’s voice faded in thought. “How confident are you in handling the necromancer?”
“Without undead, I can do it. With them, I have no idea.”
“What?” Phac raised his brows. “Why did we come here if you can’t kill them?”
“The other option was to back off! Orcs do not back off.”
“You idiot!” Phac let irritation creep into his whispering voice, “I thought you were confident! Why rush to a battle you can’t win?”
“I might win,” Oreg insisted before admitting, “but probably not.”
Phac frowned. As tempting as Levels and protecting the forest were, he wouldn’t have agreed to come here if he knew the odds were against them. He had gotten swayed by the orc’s apparent confidence. Quickly opening his status screen, he checked the worrying message.
Status: Normal -> Corruption (~20 hours left)
Is it too late to go back?
“How far away is your tribe now, Oreg?” he asked.
“Three days, maybe two if we rush. Too far away to get backup.”
“Tch.” Phac clicked his tongue. That’s too late. Even if I get a couple of Levels on the way, I’ll still be dead and corrupted by the time we arrive. Plus, these brutes may not even have a doctor. I need these Levels.
Phac recalled the corruption notification. He’d discovered that he could make any previous blue screen appear by willing it.
Warning! You have been exposed to massive amounts of Corruption. Your body is slowly succumbing to it, turning you into a Corrupted Human (Zombie), with the transition speed determined by your Constitution score. Strong healing magic can stop the transition, as can your Constitution score if it reaches above a threshold determined by the strength of the Corruption’s origin and the amount of Corruption contacted.
Until Corrupted, there will be no physical changes to your body, but there might be violent urges. The transition has just begun. Once complete, the host dies. Good luck.
He could only imagine that the necromancer and his army of undead would bring in a flood of Levels if defeated, hopefully enough for his Constitution to stave off the corruption. If he retreated, a couple of Levels from hunting Corrupted animals—or normal animals as a last resort—might do it, too, but was he willing to make his survival a coin toss? Fighting the necromancer was also a coin toss, but at least it depended on his abilities, even though it was an uphill battle. A more satisfying death, he mused.
He also hoped that, even if the levels weren’t enough, there might be something in the necromancer’s tower that would help him handle his impending zombification.
“What if we somehow bait the necromancer out?” he asked the orc.
“I don’t see how that could happen,” replied Oreg. “Do you have any ideas?”
“No,” Phac admitted. He really didn’t have any. “Maybe we could enter through the window? I’d hate going through that lake, but…the situation looks grim.”
Looking at it again, the window was big enough to barely fit a man and positioned fifteen meters high up on the side of the tower. He could get inside, and so could Oreg, probably, albeit with some difficulty. But could he climb to it?
Looking at the walls, the brick and mortar that made them up had crumbled and fallen off in places, providing many footholds. With his increased Strength and Dexterity, he could probably make it—and for some reason, he had the sneaking suspicion that in the memories he could not recall, he wasn’t unfamiliar with climbing.
“Oreg,” he asked again, “do you think you could climb to that window?” Oreg had armor and weapons to carry, so it might be tougher for him.
“I think so,” replied the orc, “but wouldn’t we be seen?”
Phac frowned. His green, tusked companion was right. Then again, they didn’t have many choices. They had to somehow get in, so it was either the door or the window, one predictable and the other noticeable.
They also had to somehow get to the tower, so it was either over the bridge or through the water. Again, one noticeable and the other dangerous.
“If they can beat us in pure strength, then we should vie for other advantages,” Phac explained his thoughts. “The element of surprise, for example. I think we should go through the water and climb to the window, be as unpredictable as possible. Infiltrating and battling on our terms is the best way to survive this.”
“That’s bullshit.” Oreg shook his head. “I think we should run over the bridge, hope it holds, smash the door in, then kill as many as possible until we get the necromancer.”
“But what about the guards that are undoubtedly behind the door?” Phac objected. “And besides that, if I was the necromancer, I would have definitely laid out many traps against possible intruders, and I would have made sure to keep enough forces at hand to defend myself, since my corruption would certainly be discovered eventually. Storming in like that is suicide.”
“But it’s the orc way,” growled Oreg. “What would my daughter think if she saw me sneaking around like a tusked lizard?”
“If we do that, then your daughter will never see you again,” Phac replied calmly, making Oreg clench his jaw. “Even if we sneak in, it will still come down to battle, just a more favorable one, as we get to ambush them instead of the opposite. It will still be honorable, and your daughter will be proud of having a brave, smart, and, most importantly, alive father who saved the forest.”
The orc didn’t reply. A short silence later, he nodded slowly. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered to himself. “I hope a mud snake eats your testicles.”
Phac’s satisfied smile froze on his face. “A what?”
“Oh, nothing to worry about.” Oreg waved the question off, a stupid grin revealing the bottom of his tusks. “So, who’s going first?”
“What, now?” asked Phac, still shuddering at the thought of testicle-hunting mud snakes. “It’s not dark yet.”
“It’s late afternoon,” replied Oreg, looking at the sun. The sky was colored an orange hue, but the sun was only barely touching the horizon. “You said we should be unpredictable. Who expects intruders before nightfall?”
Phac’s thoughts failed him. This did make sense, but…
“So, are you going first, or should I?” insisted Oreg, the stupid grin still not leaving his face. Phac only stared, at which Oreg said, “Well, guess it’s me then.”
Hiding his backpack under a bush by the shore, Oreg entered the lake. His leather armor, greataxe, and longbow all gradually disappeared into the water, with the orc not forgetting to raise a bushy brow at Phac. “You coming?” he asked as his head submerged into the green, dirty waters.
Escaping from his stupor, Phac cursed, dropping his makeshift bag next to Oreg’s before reluctantly dipping his bare feet in the water. We should have scouted more…maybe recorded when patrols come and go so we don’t get spotted.
Unfortunately, it was too late, as Oreg was already submerged and advancing—and Phac had a ticking clock under his skin, which expedited procedures.
The water felt dirty, and dense, and disgusting. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered before quickly guiding his almost naked body under the water. The sensation was upsetting and wholly uncomfortable, and Phac had to resist the urge to rush back out. The pouch-underwear he wore wasn’t tight enough to block the water.
By God, I have never felt so violated in my life, short as I remember it.
Taking a deep breath, Phac submerged his head as well and began moving forward, hoping to get out of this mud as soon as possible. Of course, he did make sure to keep a hand by his private parts, scared of the possible man-eating snakes lurking in the darkness.
Advancing with his eyes closed and trying to keep his mind away from what was happening, Phac spent his time trying to convince himself that Oreg was just joking. He had been joking about the quicksand, after all, and made fun of Phac afterward when he minded his steps overmuch.
That asshole should try walking barefoot in the swamp himself.
The swamp water ranged from chest- to neck-high, forcing Phac to walk in a crouch to remain fully submerged. Occasionally, he would straighten a bit, raising his head above the water to breathe. He kept advancing, unable to open his eyes, hoping he was going the right way and wouldn’t miss the island, until something brushed by his leg.
A weed, he told himself, calm yourself, Phac.
Once again, something brushed by him, and he felt a weak stinging sensation on his calf. Even with his eyes closed, Phac had a blue screen appear in his vision.
Warning! You have been infected with snake venom. Partial paralysis imminent.
Warning! You have been exposed to Corruption. Effect has been deemed negligible.
The venom has been nullified by high Constitution.
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!
Covering his private parts as best as he could with one hand, Phac rushed through the waters like a hippopotamus escaping from a forest fire. Still trying to hold onto a semblance of stealth, he kept his head beneath the water, his fear of getting turned into an undead just barely overpowering his fear of having his ear bit off.
A few seconds and similar blue screens later, the swamp floor beneath Phac’s legs sloped upward. Before long, he was on land again, and he fell to the ground immediately to avoid being seen as much as possible. His approach hadn’t exactly been stealthy. Raising a hand to wipe his mud-covered eyes, Phac opened them with difficulty and found himself staring at a wide-eyed, mud-covered orc.
“Holy tusks, there really were snakes,” said Oreg in a single breath, clutching his private areas as Phac was. “You okay?”
Phac nodded, wiping his lips free of mud so he could speak. “Fuck you,” he said, some mud slipping into his mouth, which he disgustedly spat out.
“We have to move.” Oreg composed himself. “We are in plain sight; let’s climb already.”
They were at the edge of the island, close to completely missing it and slightly off mark from the tower. The dark structure loomed above them like a black giant surrounded by a cloudy sky, its innards indecipherable. Looking around and seeing not a soul around the lake, the two got to the wall underneath the window, a quarter of a circle around the door.
“Let’s go,” said Oreg, grabbing the wall and climbing with surprising agility, considering the two weapons he was carrying.
Good, looks easier than expected. Phac sighed in relief as he grabbed a brick that stood out from the wall.
It wasn’t easier than expected.
There were indeed convenient handholds in the shape of gaps between bricks, but the mortar around them had gotten spongy, and pieces of it kept breaking off under the strain of his weight. Phac was forced to thoroughly test each handhold before placing his entire weight on it, making his ascent much slower than it would be—not to mention that, with the mud covering his body, not slipping off was already an achievement.
The only positive thing about the experience was the discovery that his stats weren’t just for show. He wasn’t sure how this worked, but he found it almost effortless to hang on with only one hand, at least for a few seconds. When his fingers grabbed the brick outcroppings, they felt like iron pliers holding on to clay, and he suspected that, if he really tried, his fingers might even be able to penetrate the spongy mortar.
He looked down.
The ground was almost dizzyingly far away, and looking back, the tops of the trees were lower than him. He shouldn’t have been more than ten meters above ground, but the bowing trees, their soft branches caressing the swamp below, seemed like miniatures from up here.
Suddenly remembering his critical situation and how time was not a luxury he could afford, Phac redoubled his efforts at climbing, reaching for another outcropping a few centimeters up. Oreg had already almost made it to the window, and Phac would be damned if he let himself fall far behind.
Eventually, his increased stats shone through, and even for all his haste, Phac made it safely to the window, finding a huffing and puffing orc wedged between its sides. “A hand, please?” asked Oreg, struggling to push himself through.
Holding on to the wall with one slippery hand, Phac used the other to push Oreg through the window, all the while marveling at his own bravery, after which he squeezed through himself. The mud, he mused, is not that bad, after all. It certainly makes slipping into things convenient, like a nice lubricant, even if it makes climbing a bitch.
