What the Shell?, page 14
As the door opened, Neville felt himself going through a rollercoaster of emotions. The being that entered through the door was not a zombie; that much was clear by the lack of growling and stumbling around like a blind pig. It was also not the necromancer, as this being was clearly not a woman. That gave Neville hope. Had the cavalry finally arrived?
Then, he took a better look. The being that had arrived seemed very much like a mud-covered, naked man wielding a long, broken bone. Neville’s eyebrows shot up as his jaw hung down.
After the mud creature walked into the room, a second followed through the door. This was an orc, clearly distinguished by the tell-tale tusks, also covered head-to-toe in mud. Neville groaned inwardly. Perfect, more people for the circus.
And here he expected to be rescued. Not only was one of these humanoids a crazy person, but the other was an orc, famed for their savagery and brutality.
“Hello,” said the human, barely distinguishable as one since both their faces had been wiped almost mud-free. “We may be here to rescue you.”
May?
Neville’s brows trembled, but before he could open his mouth, Donald was already pouring his heart out.
“Oh, thank the Gods you’re here, I was afraid we were dead already,” he said in a single breath. “Please rescue us, heroes, we need you. May God shine his grace on you and may your homes be always full of beautiful women, orcs or otherwise.”
The mudded human raised a brow at Donald’s barrage of greetings as the orc beside him spoke up. “Shut your damn mouth,” it growled, and Donald clamped his mouth shut in an almost audible fashion.
“What do you mean, may rescue us?” Neville managed to open his mouth, shaking in fear and excitement—the latter at possibly escaping death and the former at the two weird people who claimed to be their saviors. Especially the orc.
Both of their sights immediately fell on him, and Neville felt a shiver run down his spine but forced himself to stay still. Was he being Inspected? Rude, but if they rescued him, he could live with that.
“We didn’t really come for you,” the human spoke up again. “In fact, we had no idea you were here. Who are you?”
Neville looked around, but none of the five other people in the room seemed eager to reply, directing their eyes anywhere but the mudmen. What the hell! I don’t want to reply either! he thought in panic, but looking back at the men who were still staring at him, waiting for a reply, he had to bite the bullet.
“Not much I can say, really,” he answered helplessly, hoping his fear didn’t show. He was a brave adventurer, after all. “We were all attacked and captured before being dragged here. Of those present, I was only in a team with Donald, the guy that spoke before. Our other members died in battle or on the way here, due to injuries.”
The human mudman nodded. “Must have been heavy injuries.”
“One was decapitated, so I guess they were pretty heavy, yeah,” Donald tweeted from the side, only to receive two blank stares in return. Neville gasped in terror but then forced himself to calm down. As irritating as that guy could be if he wanted to, he did have a Charisma-based Class. He hopefully knew what he was doing.
“Great, more people for the circus,” muttered the orc, echoing Neville’s earlier sentiments. “As if the naked bone guy wasn’t enough.”
Huh. Maybe orcs aren’t humor-intolerant animals, after all, thought Neville.
“I’m not naked,” declared the mud-covered human—that Neville was pretty sure was naked—as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’m wearing underwear.”
Blinking in disbelief, Neville’s hopes deflated faster than a balloon in a hedgehog party. Oh boy. This is not happening. This is NOT happening.
While Neville was terrified, the orc let out a deep, wheezing sound that oddly sounded like laughter. I didn’t know orcs could laugh. Am I dreaming?
Behind his back, Neville used one tied-up hand to pinch the other, unfortunately not waking up. Panic continued to well up inside him. He desperately looked at the others, only to find them staring at the ground, even Donald. When was I put in charge here? You’re a freaking bard, Donald, act like it!
“So, yeah, introductions first,” said the orc, a stupid grin on his face that Neville couldn’t quite interpret. “I’m Oreg, and this is Ph—”
“Crabby,” the human interrupted him, and the orc’s grin widened further.
“Yes, yes,” it continued, voice filled with mirth, “this is my good friend Crabby the bone-wielder, boner for short. Crab for the friends, Crabber for the ladies. Don’t forget the name, he can get a bit crabby about it.”
The human seemed to be staring at the orc and trembling for some reason, while the orc’s grin had changed from just stupid to stupid and proud.
“I’m Donald Penville, a former builder and current adventurer,” the fast-talking guy hurried to introduce himself. “If you want to build or kill something, I'm your guy.”
“I’m Neville,” Neville quipped, inwardly berating himself afterward. Nice going, idiot. You should have mentioned the adventurer part, too, like Donald. They’ll think you’re stupid.
He thought to add it afterward, but the others were already speaking, making Neville shrink back in embarrassment.
“I’m Maylin, a fire mage,” the young girl introduced herself, looking at the two people warily.
“Daryll, a priest from Salom,” said the shaky, brown-robed fellow. His robes used to be white, but that was some days ago.
“Ximea, a guard from Salom,” added the only half-elf in the group. She wasn’t really a guard, but hiding her identity was understandable.
The two newcomers kept nodding through the names, and Neville had the distinct impression they couldn’t remember a single one. Their nods were made in the same indifferent way as his father’s when introduced to people he didn’t care about. Thoughts racing back to his family, Neville bit his lower lip again. If he died here, he would never see them again. It was all his fault for wanting to be an adventurer, and oh, how he regretted it…
“So,” said Crabby after they were done with the names, “have you all seen a necromancer? Shady guy, probably ordering zombies around, you’d recognize him.”
“It was a woman,” said Maylin, looking pointedly at the human. “Shady, wearing a dark cloak, ordering zombies around. Definitely your guy,” she said, placing a ton of emphasis on the last word. “We have no idea where she is, but she mentioned something about a basement, so…”
“Mhm.” The orc nodded as he moved to her side and used a big-ass greataxe to cut the ropes. As Maylin rubbed her red and swollen wrists, the human asked again, “Any idea why you're here? I’d assume you’d be more useful as zombies.”
“I think—” Maylin began, only to be interrupted by Donald.
“Allow me,” he cut her off. “I have received high-end magical education, much better than what an adventurer could get.”
Seeing the angry looks he was receiving, he quickly continued. “The necromancer probably has a limit on the number of zombies she can control at once. Otherwise, necromancers would simply be too powerful. Find a graveyard, and boom, you have an army.”
At least he's making sense, thought Neville, still angry at the man's previous words that belittled all adventurers. Still, a former builder getting advanced magical education? Something's fishy.
“So, we’re going down,” declared the orc while moving to untie the rest of them, too.
Neville saw the monstrous green humanoid approaching and lowered his head, waiting for the impending release of his wrists. With a quick swipe that almost chopped his arms off, the thick ropes fell to the ground, and Neville quickly brought his wrists to the front while suppressing a yelp of pain. They were red and swollen, echoing a pain so numbing he thought they might be sprained already.
As the fearsome orc walked away from him and on to Donald, Neville clenched his jaw and mustered his resolve. He knew what he had to do, but by God, he didn’t know if he had the courage. Forcing himself to stand, he walked up to the human standing in the middle of the room, who turned to regard him.
Neville opened his mouth but found his legs trembling and his lips unable to utter a word. Trying again, he managed to speak. “I… I want to help,” he said, cringing at the weak trembling of his voice. He desperately wanted to stay behind, to just let these two waltz in and kill the necromancer, but how would he become a proper adventurer, then? How would he become a man for his father to be proud of? He was terrified of dying, but he still went ahead and spoke his mind.
There, I said it, he thought, feeling his terror mix with satisfaction.
Frowning, the human—Crabby—raised a finger and pointed at Neville’s face, so close that it almost touched his nose.
“You,” he growled, “will sit the fuck down.”
Neville backed up a few shaky steps. He tried to speak up, to insist that it was the least he could do, to inform them that he was an adventurer, too, but found that his mouth just wouldn’t obey. The relief that flooded him at the human’s response was just too much, and his terror was something he did not have the power to defeat again.
I did what I had to, right? I asked to help, it’s him who didn’t accept. I did the right thing… he tried to convince himself, but he couldn’t stop his shame from overflowing. Walking back to his previous spot, he sat back down, jaw clenched to overpower the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He didn’t know if they were due to fear, shame, or relief, but he would be damned if he let himself cry.
Phac watched the young man walk dejectedly back to his spot and sit down, hiding his face by looking at the ground. He felt sorry for the boy, but his eyes didn’t soften in the slightest. This was not a fight for a kid—Neville, he remembered, surprising himself. He was too young to die. The lives of Oreg and himself would have to be enough. Besides, he could see that the boy wouldn’t be of much help.
Neville Esquire, Human
Level: 4
Humans are the most adaptable and populous of sentient creatures. Every sort of human exists, their species characterized by extreme diversity and yet no obvious separation into subspecies.
Taking another look around the room, Phac reviewed the people they’d found. The prisoners had thick rope tying both their hands behind their backs and two iron hoops embedded in the walls, keeping them almost immobile. Or, at least, they used to be tied up before Oreg went to town on the ropes.
One thing that Phac had gleaned from this encounter was that he was big, taller than most of the men who were now standing; only the robed priest matched him, but unlike that guy, Phac was broad, too. That was good to know, since he hadn't had a point of reference for himself up to now—besides Oreg, of course, but he wasn't familiar with orc sizes.
Neville, the guy he’d just told off, was an averagely built, blond young man, too young to fight, in Phac’s humble opinion. Then, there was the guy that spoke a lot, whose name he didn’t bother to remember—Donumb or something.
Besides those, there was the guy who claimed to be a priest, donned in a brown robe, and the green-eyed, red-haired girl who told them about the necromancer—Maylin, he remembered this one’s name because she seemed entertaining, for some reason.
But the most interesting was the last one, the person that also called herself an adventurer. He turned his gaze at her, where he had been looking before Neville approached him, begging to be told off. Really, the relief at being rejected was so strong in the boy’s eyes that Phac briefly marveled at the courage it must have taken to offer to help in the first place.
But yes, the last human. This was a woman wearing rags. Well-developed features could be seen beneath them, though Phac didn’t want to stare, and he immediately felt glad the necromancer was a woman, or who knew what a man would have done to this beauty? She had strangely pointed ears, while her facial features were small and sharp, blue eyes and long blond hair lending themselves to forming a painting-worthy visage.
Most interestingly, the woman didn’t seem intimidated by his gaze at all as she stared right back while he examined her. It was just curiosity, though, not lust—he wouldn’t look at a woman in her situation like that.
Since Oreg had told him that it was rude to Inspect someone, he hadn’t Inspected the two ladies. He did find it interesting, though, that the two of them seemed different from the men, their ears pointy and facial features delicate. Perhaps they were related.
As for the men, whom he had inspected, Neville was at Level 4 and both the others at Level 6, with Classes unknown. And yet, only the lowest level had volunteered to fight. Hmph. Phac sneered while looking at them, not bothering to hide it.
By the time Phac had turned his mind back to present matters, Oreg had already finished untying the prisoners. They all had red and swollen wrists, some bleeding, too, but they’d live.
“Ready to go, Crabby?” asked the orc, smirking, and for the tenth time in ten minutes, Phac had to suppress the urge to hit Oreg. He’d been embarrassed when the orc had been about to mention his name—for no good reason—and, with no time to think, Crabby had been the first thing to cross his mind. He’d immediately felt stupid for blurting it out, but no, that wasn’t enough for Oreg.
No, the prick just had to go and make a charade of the made-up name. If he wasn’t covered in mud and in bad lighting, Phac might have even blushed. Oreg must be feeling pretty proud of himself by now.
Though, he had to admit, if he wasn’t the butt of the joke, then it could have been pretty funny.
“Yeah, let’s go,” he said, taking a step toward the door, bone sword in hand.
“Wait,” spoke the priest. “The zombies come and take some people away every few hours; probably to the necromancer, since she needs fresh bodies she's personally killed. You could pretend to be prisoners; they’re dumb enough to carry you to her with your weapons and everything.”
Phac raised a brow. “How sure are you about that?”
“I’m pretty sure, Mr. Crabby,” replied the priest, and Phac had to suppress the urge to tell him to fuck off. “Undead are unholy creatures, so we know a lot about them. Even rocks are smarter than zombies. Honestly, I’m surprised they’re even able to follow orders like ‘fetch a prisoner.’”
“The plan has some merit. What do you think, Oreg?” asked Phac. “Who knows how many traps and enemies we’ll avoid by doing this.”
The orc scowled, clearly not in favor of the idea. “What if they decide to bite us? Or if they don’t take us to the necromancer, or if they decide to kill us before we get there?”
“Then, we go with plan B,” explained Phac, a wild grin splitting his face. “We kill anything that moves until we get to the necromancer or die.”
“Now, you’re speaking my language,” growled Oreg, satisfied. “So, we wait?”
Placing the bone sword on the ground next to him, Phac sat down. “We wait.”
SEVENTEEN
A PERFECTLY PERFECT PLAN
Popping open the soda can, Nick took a big gulp, sighing with satisfaction at the refreshingly cool liquid traveling down his throat.
“Nice, ain’t it?” asked a voice from the side, and Nick smiled at the muscular man. He was currently taking a break from work, sitting on a bench in the warehouse’s shadow to hide from the unrelenting midday sun. Wiping a soda-wet hand on the sweaty, sleeveless shirt he wore, Nick regarded Dom, his coworker sitting beside him.
Dom was a capable worker, his arms as thick as logs. When moving crates around, as was their job in the warehouse, Dom was twice as efficient as Nick—who wasn’t a slouch either. Unfortunately, Dom was a capable worker, but his mind left much to be desired.
“Yeah,” replied Nick, tactfully rejecting the other man’s attempt at conversation, perhaps too delicately for Dom to notice.
“Did you see the news, man?” asked the short-haired, muscular man while excitedly waving his big arms around. “Shanghai kicked some fucking ass! They’re breaking into the Governor’s office!”
“I don’t really follow the news, Dom.” Nick unwrapped a sandwich. That stupid dog he’d adopted yesterday, Matt, ate a lot, so he’d decided to save up wherever he could. A smile formed on Nick’s lips at the thought of the brown former stray wagging its tail in its sleep. He’d actually woken up with the dog nestled on top of him in the morning! How stupid.
“What do you think, man? Is the apocalypse happening? That’s what my Pa says, and he’s stocking up on guns already,” continued Dom, either not noticing or not caring about his companion’s lack of enthusiasm.
Nick smiled again. Dom was a teenager, only a couple of years after graduating middle school, but he’d opted to work at the docks instead of attending high school—a wise choice, in Nick’s humble opinion. The boy had been gifted with great strength and a weak mind, so why not use the former? Not everyone had to go to university.
However, it was at times like this that Nick realized how necessary education sometimes was, as the boy was naive to the point of stupidity. Experience will fix that, hopefully, he thought, recalling his own early days after dropping out of school.
“I don’t think it’s the apocalypse, Dom.” Nick took a bite out of his sandwich and swallowed before continuing. “It’s just a change. New things appear, people are shocked, protests and fights everywhere, until it eventually gets old and a new problem comes around. It’s happened before and will happen again. Just because it’s a slightly bigger issue this time doesn’t make it an apocalypse.”
Dom frowned. “Well, I think it’s the apocalypse. My Pa said so.”
Nick continued his meal, not replying. Dom might be a good guy deep down, but this was why he’d attempted to avoid a conversation to begin with. As naive as the young man was, he was equally stubborn…but Nick was in no obligation to correct him. Let his Pa handle it.
