What the Shell?, page 19
“It was a bit funny, yeah,” Phac agreed.
Oreg added, “You’re not tricking us, but you can keep trying. We enjoy making fun of you.”
“Can you shut up already!?” the voice thundered, finally losing its cool. “Every time you open your mouth, you spew shit. I won’t stand for this. After everything I’ve done, I don’t deserve it. I dip myself in shit and pain every day so you little people can happily play along in your pitiful fake bubble where killing is bad and weak, and innocent people should never have to sacrifice anything. But that is not true, you fools. I wish I was like you, but I’m not! I’m smart enough to see the things you cannot see and solve them in ways you cannot even imagine!
“I don’t like my part even without you insulting me to my face, without you ruining my plans and making everything even harder, so I suggest you stay quiet. Your actions today have cost the world many lives, little orc, and do you know who will clean up your mess? Me; so, use what honor you have left to shut your mouth and listen closely. You will tell me your names and come to Salom, where my people will pick you up. Am I clear?”
“We’re not coming,” said Phac, and Oreg nodded in agreement. “It’s clear that you’re a self-deluded asshole. You can’t treat people as numbers. Fuck off to prepare more speeches but know this; we are coming for you. Whatever insane plan you have to “save the world,” we’ll save it from your megalomaniac ass.”
A sigh came through the green ball before the voice chuckled. “Fine,” it said. “Have it your—”
Before the voice could finish talking, Oreg picked up a book from the ground and threw it at the rotating ball of green blood with all the strength he could muster, breaking it apart into stains of green that fell to the floor and formed tiny puddles. The book continued on to collide with the far wall, pages flying everywhere from the force of the throw.
The voice was extinguished.
“Everything is numbers, my ass.” Oreg snorted. “We’ve heard enough.”
“Maybe…” Phac crossed his arms, looking back. “Oh? Why are you still here?”
“I know that voice,” muttered Neville, shivering. He hadn’t fetched Daryll yet as the Goatee Devil’s words had snatched his attention. “I just can’t place it right now… What even was that?”
“Someone was controlling this entire thing from the shadows, apparently,” explained Phac, brows furrowed in thought. “He mentioned sacrifices and averting a greater evil…do you have any idea about that?”
Neville shook his head. “No,” he replied, “not at all.”
“Why are you even bothering?” asked Oreg, still clearly pissed off. “That guy wanted to sacrifice my tribe and forest. There was not an ounce of truth in his words.”
“But what if there was?” replied Phac. “He’s insane, all right, but that greater evil he mentioned…what could it be?”
“He’s hallucinating,” Oreg insisted.
“But what if he isn’t?”
“He is.”
“I’m just saying we should look into it more. There’s no doubt that guy’s a lunatic and must be stopped, but maybe there’s more to this issue than meets the eye.”
“And I’m saying that I won’t base my decisions on the ravings of my tribe’s enemy.” Oreg crossed his arms, clearly not intending to budge. The two men stared at each other.
“Don’t cut me off like that, man.” Phac frowned deeply. Perhaps it was the left-over tension from the final battle that never came, but he was quick to lose his composure, and Oreg even more so, apparently. “Keep your inner barbarian in check for a moment. There might be something here, and we can’t afford to miss it because the guy that said it was an asshole.”
In fact, all of them were slightly trembling, partly from the leftover adrenaline of the finished battle and partly from the pent-up frustration caused by the mysterious voice’s words, that never had the opportunity to be released in battle.
“My inner barbarian?” Oreg fumed up. “That guy’s machinations could have killed my daughter, Phac. He deserves every single curse I can throw at him, and definitely not my attention. Yes, I’m a barbarian, so fucking what?”
“Hmph.” Phac snorted. “You're a barbarian, not an animal. You have a brain; use it.”
“Did you just call me an animal, human?” Oreg’s voice dropped dangerously low. “Orcs are not animals. Got it?”
“Naturally. What does that have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do, you Lost buffoon. Orcs are considered barbarians, savages, backward tribespeople. Animals. And your people ostracize us because of that, so it has everything to do with EVERYTHING! YOU get that in your fucking head.”
“My people? What people?! The ones I don't even remember? Him—” he pointed at Neville, ”or the other few humans that we only met just a couple of hours ago? And that's if I am even still a human, with fucking blue blood!”
“Hmph.” Oreg snorted too and was about to retort when Neville intervened, shyly approaching the two who were standing face-to-face, less than an arm’s reach apart. The young man felt even more pent-up frustration than them since he came down pumped up for a battle and got none, but apparently, he was more apt or more willing to control his emotions than the other two were. “Can we just…go and get the priest? We are all still bleeding, and the tension is getting to all of us.”
“I told you to get him long ago,” Oreg growled in annoyance, turning at Neville. The boy lowered his gaze.
“Of course, you are not animals, Oreg…” said Phac as he turned and headed for the stairs, the orc still glaring at him from behind. He knew the argument had gone unfinished, but did it really matter? He could think about what happened himself. “For now, let’s go get that damn priest or you’ll bleed to death, you vegetable-colored sapient.”
“Hmph. Let’s go,” agreed the orc, and they all left the witch’s laboratory to head upstairs, where Daryll and the women were resting—but Neville, sighing, noticed a few sharp glares taking place between Phac and Oreg, signifying hard feelings that had trouble dissipating. Why can’t these grown men just be rational?
As for Phac himself, he just couldn’t wait to get out of this godforsaken place. He’d make sure to speed things up as much as possible, preferably being out of here by dawn. And then, what?
I must go to Salom, but maybe I should visit Oreg’s tribe first, even if he’s stubborn as a mule. It’s not like I can just waltz into a town and go full vigilante on that lunatic’s megalomaniac ass.
A lone man, wandering the world with nothing but baggy underwear and a bag of Juiceberries, riding into the sunset… How perfect.
But, for now, I do have a flood of Duncy messages to check. Let’s see…
A clean-shaven man sat behind a mahogany desk and rubbed his temples. He was dressed in pure white robes, and his handsomeness was unquestionable, with clear blue eyes and a face as if sculpted by the gods standing out below his long golden hair.
The clean, wood-furnished, well-lit study he was in only served to amplify the feeling of amiable holiness that naturally exuded from this man. A well-kept wooden library adorned one wall of the room, filled with the colored backs of books, while a tray with tea, biscuits, and cakes lay on a small table by the side, surrounded by three chairs.
A simple, circular green carpet decorated the room’s floor, each side of which was respectively occupied by a big mahogany door, the cozy library, the small table and chairs, and, lastly, the man’s impressive desk, filled with towers of neatly stacked paperwork. A big circular window lay above and behind the desk, flooding the room with moonlight and showcasing the sprawling town that lay beneath.
This image could have been peaceful if not for the man’s blue eyes being clouded by hatred, his face warped by rage as he clenched his fists to the point of turning white. Finally, he decided he couldn’t contain it.
“Damn!” he shouted, banging his hands on the desk with such strength that the strong wood shook, the towers of neatly stacked paperwork collapsing and scattering all over the room.
A small green snake, only the length of two toothpicks, crawled out of his white sleeve. As harmless as it looked, the deep voice that rumbled out as it slithered across the desk hinted otherwise. “Only a setback, Master.”
“You call this a setback? An entire branch of my plans went to hell, and not just that, but those buffoons kept testing my patience. And don’t think for a second this has nothing to do with you.” He pointed at the small snake. “Your worthless underling not only failed miserably at protecting our plans, but that coward also called me in front of the enemies!”
“You didn't have to kill him,” complained the little snake, annoyance audible in its rumbling voice, coupled with a threatening aggressiveness.
“I'm working with you because I need to, devil, not because I want to. One fewer devil in this world is one less disaster to prevent, and I'm juggling enough calamities already without your cursed kind getting involved. Plus, as he betrayed me first, I have not broken our deal.”
Resting back on his chair, he took a big, slow breath, the snake waiting for him to keep talking. “Wannabe heroes, ignorant as they come…”
“Brawn can prevail where luck has failed the brains, Master. But if I may,” continued the small serpent in its cold, deep voice, unperturbed by the man’s outburst, “you didn’t seem to mind the contact. You got a lot of information, even though they declined your invitation. Would you have killed them?”
“Naturally.” The blond man snorted, seeming to completely regain his composure. “But this is already enough. Those morons never even considered that I could still hear them through the blood puddle…an orc called Oreg, a male Lost, and a teenager who’s heard my voice before. The orc is definitive enough; as soon as they step into Salom, I’ll know.”
“That Lost seemed more open to convincing, Master,” continued the snake. “If you can speak to him alone, perhaps he could be of use…”
“My hopes are low. I will not pursue that path, but if destiny makes it happen, we’ll see.”
“You keep speaking of destiny, but it’s just a myth.”
“Heh.” The man chuckled. He stood up, pacing to the window and surveying the town below with his hands behind his back. “For all the years you’ve lived, devil, you remain naive. Destiny does exist, at least to a utilitarian degree…”
“Is that why you fed them information, Master? You rambled on as if you’d lost your composure, and you kept mentioning a greater evil. If they start probing around, who knows what nest they’ll stir.”
“That’s fine; I can handle anything they throw at me. All that matters is that, now, they’re predictable. I'm not all-powerful, snake; it is only through thorough preparation that I can stand victorious. Know thyself and know thy enemy. Well, now, I know a bit of both.
“And besides,” he smirked, “I did vent, for a moment. Supporting the future of an entire island on your shoulders is stressful. It was a good opportunity to release some steam, especially after how irritating they were being. Remember, snake; don’t push yourself too hard or you will break.”
“Yes, Master; your wisdom is unparalleled,” rumbled the snake’s voice as it raised its small head to look at the human.
The man turned back to the window, gazing at the moonlit city below—his city.
Your only sin is ignorance, fools…but for the future of everyone else, you must disappear. If the world falls to flames because of you after everything I've done to save it, just who will shoulder the blame?
“Oh, well,” he concluded, turning back to regard the papers on his desk, “back to work.”
TWENTY-TWO
PINCER
The very first thing Phac did after exiting the basement was take a deep breath of chilly night air. The second was to take a look at the flood of blue screens awaiting
The others had decided to search through the dead bodies lying around for keepsakes, to help identify them at Salom, and Phac thought this would be as good a moment as any to take a small break. Besides, they’d just met a talking green ball. Who knows when and what they’d have to fight next?
Congratulations! For withstanding multiple attacks using only your naked body as protection, you are awarded a Skill to help you suicide less.
Crab Shell: Passive Skill, no cost. Your skin gets proportionately to your Constitution, mirroring the way a crab’s shell strengthens. Additionally, similarly to a crab’s underbelly plates, you get, like, seriously ripped.
Will you accept this Skill?
Available Skill slots: 2/5
Huh. Suicide less, my ass, but this sounds useful. Accept.
An intense itch immediately spread through the entirety of Phac’s skin, focused on his back, and he had to suppress a scream. The feeling abated almost immediately, leaving him with a strange tightness in his abdomen area. Pinching his skin experimentally took significantly more strength than it ought to. Nice.
Congratulations! You have reached Level 11. +2 Free Points, +1 STR, +1 CON
Congratulations! You have reached Level 12. +2 Free Points, +1 STR, +1 CON
Huh? Why did I get Levels just now? I didn’t even kill the necromancer!
Maybe I can get Levels for other things, too, not just killing stuff. Invading a necromancer’s tower and making her…kill herself…must count as something. Bah, I don’t care, I’ll just ask the stubborn orc later.
Congratulations! Quest ’Save the Forest’ has been completed.
Reward: A Class-themed weapon of the Rare grade. Choose your desired type of weapon.
You did the right thing. You deserve this, Fuck.
Awesome! Let’s leave this for later; I’ll need Oreg’s advice when we’re done looking around. And how can Dunce misspell my name… Are you phacking kidding me?
Congratulations! For successfully completing a Quest, you get the Title ‘Quester ®.’
Quester: +10 Free Points
Your willingness to assist has been noted.
10 points! What should I invest in?
I always come so close to death, and this new skill scales with Constitution, too. Oreg had advised focusing on Constitution only until around level 10, but my Strength seems fine for now…and I’m getting damn Corrupted! Dunce, this had better work.
Allocating the entirety of his 14 free points on Constitution, Phac got the much-awaited confirmation.
Congratulations! Your body has grown durable enough for the Corruption to be neutralized.
Oh, thank Dunce. Lastly, Phac reviewed his status screen to see exactly how much he had changed. Dunce, show me myself!
Name: Phac
Race: Human
Level: 12
Class: Crab Fighter (Elite)
HP: 50/106
STA: 15/26
Titles: Elite ®, Fateless ®, Quester ®, Decisive
Skills: Smash, Crab Step, Killing Intent, Crab Shell
STR: 24
DEX: 19
CON: 53
INT: 10
WIS: 16
CHA: 13
LCK: 7
53 Constitution, combined with my new Crab Shell, maybe I really am invincible.
“Did your stubbornness work you out, human?” asked Oreg, crouching over a destroyed zombie as he raised a brow at Phac’s now rock-solid abs. Phac grinned.
Best skill ever!
Nick sighed as he opened his eyes, invigorated; why did things have to get complicated? Or perhaps, they always had been; he just couldn’t see it. Then again, maybe that was exactly the point.
“Down, boy.” He laughed as Matt, the brown dog he’d picked up two nights ago, woke up with him and began licking his face. I never was an animal person, and now I’m feeding this bugger with my money and letting him sleep on my bed… I really must be going soft. Damn, that shit really does change your mindset. Maybe the protests are right.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Nick brushed the dog and his blanket aside—the night air was cold by the docks—and got up to prepare breakfast. Colorful thoughts kept flashing in his mind, unlike what he usually had before work.
He threw Matt a piece of bacon and smiled as the dog caught it out of the air, wagging its tail. He also poured himself a glass of whisky, to get the day going. They were scheduled to have a huge shipment of canned food arriving at the warehouse today, meant for some hobbyist survivalists or whatever, and he would have to bust his ass at work. A few sips of whisky would help, and he still refused to go one day without.
Yeah. I would have never taken in a stray before. I didn’t even like animals…and I’ve been smiling lately, he thought as he rotated his glass, watching the amber liquid float around in tiny waves. I can see why people are struggling, but everything has its upsides, I suppose… A lot of people seem to have benefitted from the experience, including myself. Maybe the protests are wrong after all…
Finishing his whisky in three big gulps, Nick placed it in the sink he’d cleaned the day before, not daring to leave dirty plates unattended with the dog around. Picking up his phone, his sight instinctively fell on the piece of paper underneath it—the phone number of his mother, whom he hadn’t contacted in many months, at least not after he’d been kicked off his last ship and sworn to stay land-bound. Even before that, their communication was incredibly sporadic, at best.
He considered the phone and the paper for a moment before averting his eyes. Not today…
