Vortena

by Neven Iliev

  Xera put her palms to the ground in an effort to push herself up, then froze, realising that she could feel neither the dirt under her palms nor the sunlight on her face. Though the thick armour that had replaced her flesh made her much harder to injure, it apparently also removed her sense of touch. And that wasn’t the only sensation that was gone, as her nose could no longer pick up anything resembling a scent, not even the faint stench of rot that seemed to follow the lich everywhere. She hurriedly scooped up a bit of dirt and put it in her mouth, only to find that her taste buds were just as numb as the rest of her.

  “Master!” she cried, through the mouthful of dirt. “I can’t feel a single thing! It’s like my body isn’t really there!”

  Although she’d become accustomed to sensory deprivation in the Beyond, this was much worse than that. It was like she was a prisoner in her own body, especially as it had become too heavy for her feeble muscles to move. It was a distressing state of affairs, and she might have seriously started to panic if she had also lost her hearing and eyesight.

  “Really? Does this hurt?”

  Boxxy moved closer to its newly-shiny familiar and struck her in the thigh with a tentacle coated in Metal Mimicry, making a small, gong-like sound in the process. The impact left a small dent in her new skin, but dealt precisely zero damage.

  “N-no. That didn’t hurt, Master,” Xera’s voice oozed with disappointment.

  “What about this?”

  It reformed the appendage into something resembling a spear and thrust it at the demon’s steel midsection. Its second attempt was more forceful, allowing the tentacle to just barely pierce her torso. There was some slight damage and the Mimic could see a bit of demon blood oozing from the wound, but Xera remained unfazed.

  “No, Master,” she shook her head.

  “So, you feel nothing at all?”

  “I can tell… something is stuck in my body… but I can’t discern its texture… nor its temperature. It is… difficult to put into words. I have never experienced such a feeling before…”

  Xera was having more and more difficulty speaking as the steel’s weight began to overwhelm her limited stamina.

  “Is it a tasty feeling?”

  “I… wouldn’t say so, Master.”

  “Can you stand?”

  “I don’t know. I will try.”

  The succubus desperately attempted to push herself up from the ground. She struggled immensely, her arms and legs shaking furiously, but she somehow managed to get to her feet. Only to fall flat on her butt a second later.

  “I can’t do it,” she panted frantically. “I don’t have enough strength to – huff – handle this much – huff – weight. Even breathing – huff – and talking – huff – are exhausting.”

  Her rapid breathing grew shallower as her body was forced to expend more energy than it gained just trying to fill her lungs with air.

  “I see. Okay, that’s enough for now.”

  Boxxy dismissed the succubus, sending her back to the Beyond. Her metallic body took longer than it usually did to evaporate, but other than that it disappeared like it normally did. Left without an owner, the cursed gauntlet shook a few times before returning to its original dimensions with a loud snap. The Mimic then re-summoned its familiar, who materialised as her usual self with no apparent side effects aside from an unpleasant memory.

  “Master, I do not believe we can sell that item. Like, at all.”

  “Why not? It makes you tougher and you don’t feel pain, so it should be very tasty, right? Just need to be strong enough to handle the weight.”

  “Master, you need to consider the loss of touch, smell and taste. No person in their right mind would willingly give up those sensations.”

  “Not even if they became super tough in return?”

  “No, they wouldn’t.”

  Xera was utterly confident of this. All living things – be they male or female, enlightened or monster, demon or mortal – lived to seek pleasure above all else, particularly the physical kind. Some might argue that this was a cynical outlook and that people were better than that, but Xera’s very existence gave testament to how naive and untrue that sentiment was. Even her master was like that, though its definition of ‘pleasure’ was a bit skewed.

  “Would you ever use something that made it impossible to enjoy tasty things?”

  “What?! Of course not!” Boxxy shouted angrily. “Why would I ever want such a vile thing?!”

  “My point exactly, Master. I guarantee that there is no sane mortal out there who would give up a lifetime of tasty things for a pitiful, golem-like existence.”

  “Golem-like, huh? I see, so it’s like that.”

  Put that way, it made a weird kind of sense. The final reward for clearing a dungeon centered around golems was an item that turned the conqueror into one. Even the typically-dense Mimic was able to grasp that concept. It also understood exactly what Snack was getting at. After all, it also lost feeling with its limbs coated in Metal Mimicry, but generally didn’t consider it a big deal since it was handy during combat and it was a temporary thing. Imagining a situation where its entire body was permanently covered like that was extremely disturbing. Especially since that would also eliminate its sense of taste, which was one of the main things it derived pleasure from.

  All things considered, Boxxy had to begrudgingly agree that nobody in their right mind would want the gauntlet. And if nobody wanted it, then the Mimic wouldn’t be able to get a good price for it, which meant that selling it would be a waste. And since it hated to waste things, cursed or not, it wanted to at least get some use out of it.

  “Arms,” it called. “Try putting that gauntlet on.”

  Its already-tough front-liner becoming even tougher could only be a good thing, and the fiend’s ridiculous strength and endurance would allow her to turn the added weight into an advantage. It would not only be harder to knock her down, but all of her punches would grow more damaging if she put her heavy frame into them. Admittedly, she wouldn’t be able to dodge all that well, but she probably wouldn’t need to.

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Kora shrugged. “It’ll take a lot of the fun out of fighting if I can’t feel someone else’s blood on my face, though.”

  She sauntered over to where the gauntlet lay on the ground and was about to bend over to pick it up when she realised that someone else had beaten her to it.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, pipsqueak?”

  Fizzy had picked up the gauntlet without anyone noticing and was staring at it intently. It was only when she felt the others’ eyes upon her that she turned her eyes from the cursed item and towards the Mimic.

  “Boxxy, do you insist on having Koralenteprix use this?”

  The uncanny steadiness and determination in her voice genuinely surprised the creature. This was the first time since their escape that she had ever gazed unflinchingly at it like she did now. There was no stutter to her words, no meek subservience in her demeanour, and no fear in her eyes.

  “… Why?” it asked.

  “Because I want this.”

  Part Nine

  Fizzy no longer wanted to feel. Such things had brought her nothing but misery ever since she had been imprisoned. It had only gotten worse ever since she’d been raped, to the point where she was sure that she would end her own life someday soon unless she did something about it.

  But what could someone like her hope to accomplish?

  Take revenge on Boxxy, the one who had abused and violated her? No, that would have been pointless. Like an avalanche, the Mimic had only acted the way it had because a certain someone had set it off. Blaming it would be like getting angry at the clouds for dropping rain on her picnic, to say nothing of the sheer impossibility of actually going against the creature. Plus, she honestly felt that she could start to get along with the monster now that it had started treating her better, if only it hadn’t been for one damned thing.

  Namely, her flesh. The stupi
d, disgusting, vile sack of meat that seemed determined to mess everything up. Not only was it an inconvenience to Boxxy, but she was continually assaulted by sensations she wanted no part of. The only reason her tortured mind kept drifting to thoughts of suicide was because that was the only way she could see to free herself from her damnable prison.

  But now another answer had appeared, and she had seen its miraculous power with her own two eyes. A way to allow her to regain control over her sorry life. A method of re-forging herself into someone different, stronger. And she would take a page out of Boxxy’s book and greedily latch onto the thing she desired. The thing she needed.

  And it was that cold determination that had allowed her to stand up to the Mimic for what could very well have been the last time.

  “Because I want this.”

  “You’re not afraid of the curse?”

  She took a deep breath. The fact that Boxxy was asking questions instead of denying her immediately meant that she had a chance. And if there was one thing that the God of Chaos dictated, it was that chances existed to be taken.

  “Curse? This holds no curse, but my salvation!” the gnome declared. “I need this if I’m ever going to find a way to stop life from fucking me up the ass whenever it feels like it. No, I want more than that! I want to grab life by the balls, rip them off and ram them down its fucking throat!”

  Fizzy panted heavily as she finished her outburst. She had surprised herself not only with how forceful her voice had been, but also by how natural it had felt. It was as though she had finally let loose a side of her that had been desperately clawing for a way out. The thought that speaking to her betters in such a manner could earn her a beating did not even occur to her.

  Funnily enough, it apparently didn’t occur to Boxxy, either.

  “Heh. Hehehehe. Hahahahahahaha!”

  What came from the Mimic’s throat was not abuse, orders or derision, but a menacing laugh.

  “SHAAAH SHAH SHAH SHAH SHAH SHAH! SHAAAH SHAH SHAH SHAH SHAH SHAH SHAH SHAH!”

  Somewhere along the way it stopped laughing with the imitation Xera head it typically used to communicate, letting out a deep, guttural guffaw with its actual mouth. And yet the gnome remained unwavering in her determination.

  “That’s it!” it exclaimed, once it had calmed down somewhat. “There’s the monster I wanted to see! A thing that chases after what is tasty without holding back!”

  That was indeed it. This right here was exactly what it had been talking about when it had told the gnome that it would teach her to fight like a monster, but she hadn’t been able to reach that point until now. No matter how much it had pushed her, no matter how much it had abused her, the strangely stubborn creature called Cornie Fizzlesprocket had refused to let go of her gnomish sensibilities. Boxxy had been able to see it in her body language, in every little movement she made, that tiny bit of hesitation in her subconscious making her movements awkward and stiff. Forcing her to fight so many monsters to the death had helped mitigate it somewhat, but she’d still been lacking, still incomplete.

  But the current Fizzy had none of those flaws. She stood firmly, unwilling to simply give up and let go of her goals, showing no hesitation whatsoever in the face of the objectively more powerful being that she was addressing. Her body was in a completely relaxed and natural state, ready to spring into action the instant its owner ordered. It was as if she had already prepared herself to fight to the death for the gauntlet, should Boxxy deny her. Perhaps the cursed item was the last thing she’d needed to let go of that dreadfully civilised part of her.

  There was just one small thing that the Mimic needed to clarify.

  “Okay, you want my shiny glove. What will you give me in return?”

  Everything in the world could have a price attached to it, even intangible things like ‘salvation.’ That was one of the valuable life lessons that it had learned during its time with the Mercenary Guild. Another such nugget of wisdom was that there was much profit to be gained from the misery and desperation of others. That said, Boxxy seriously doubted whether Fizzy actually had anything to offer. The greedy Mimic had taken everything from her but her life, and even that was only a murderous whim away. It had already decided that it would give her the gauntlet regardless of her answer, but thought it might as well demand some sort of compensation. After all, that was yet another lesson that the old bartender in Erosa had taught the ‘illustrious Mister Morningwood:’

  Asking was free.

  “I offer you my complete loyalty and total obedience,” the gnome answered resolutely. “It is the only thing I have left to give.”

  Now there was something Boxxy hadn’t considered. While it was true that Fizzy behaved herself and obeyed its orders, that was only because of the fear that Boxxy had put into her. Something that it had already determined to be a sub-optimal means of control, but the only one it had had at its disposal. After all, Fizzy wasn’t a demon to be bound to a contract, nor was she a lich that could be kept in line by threatening her phylactery. There was no actual way to ensure that she would obey Boxxy unconditionally, yet she still offered her ‘complete loyalty’ and ‘total obedience.’

  And the Mimic was quite curious to see how she planned to hold up her end of the bargain.

  “Okay, let’s say I accept. How will you give me such things?”

  The tiny Paladin went down on one knee before Boxxy, gently placing the gauntlet on the ground next to her. She bowed deeply to the monster, lowering her head and body as far as her kneeling position would allow as her tiny fists pressed into the dirt.

  “I, Cornie Fizzlesprocket, Champion of Chaos and Paladin of the Order of the Gilded Chest, hereby pledge myself into the service of Boxxy T. Morningwood, chosen Hero of the Goddess of Probability.”

  A soft yellow-green light poured from the gnome as she chanted.

  “Your words shall be my law. Your wishes shall be my goals. Your choices shall be my creed.”

  Countless motes of light began swirling around her, steadily coalescing into a small swarm.

  “I vow to serve you completely in both body and soul, with my god as my witness. Let us teach the world the true meaning of chaos!”

  *FWOOM*

  The luminescent particles erupted into the sky, leaving behind a trail of golden light. They exploded with a series of sharp pops, releasing a shower of sparks that came together to spell out a message in the sky:

  [I got you, fam!]

  The entire group stared up at the glowing sign for a solid fifteen seconds before it faded away and Fizzy rose to her feet.

  “What was that?” asked the flabbergasted Mimic.

  “I just made the Pledge of Arms before the watchful eye of Salad, the God of Randomness. It’s a ceremony – a ritual I learned from the Holy Scripture Skill,” the gnome explained. “And it looks like the big guy not only heard me, but also supports it. That means I’ll be in line for some divine retribution if I betray or abandon you.”

  She had decided that the first step towards regaining control of her life was to accept the things that she could not change. She was a Paladin aligned with the weirdest deity in existence and also Boxxy’s possession. This was her lot in life and trying to deny either of those things would be pointless. She had therefore decided to stop begrudgingly following the Mimic and begin actively supporting it. So what if it had raped her, hurt her, or abused her? She was confident that she could overcome such lingering resentments if she could just let go of her useless body.

  Which led her to the second step in regaining control of her life – changing the things that she could. And what needed to change most was herself. Her selfish desire to abandon her worthless past and focus on her future had led her to this outcome. A combination of intent, circumstances and actions had conspired to make this one, singular moment in time a reality.

  “Okay,” the Mimic said approvingly. “You can have the shiny glove.”

  “Thanks, Boxxy!”

  Fizzy smile
d genuinely for the first time since her life had gone to shit. She was about to let go of that sorry existence once and for all, so it was only natural that she’d be utterly overjoyed. Without further ado, she thrust her tiny arm into the cursed gauntlet, which groaned and screeched as it shrunk down to an even smaller size than it had before. Matching Fizzy’s small build should have been well beyond the capabilities of the transformative enchantment it bore, yet something seemed to be driving it to push beyond its limits.

  It wrapped itself snugly around her hand and forearm, forming a perfect fit. The curse activated in the next instant, spreading rapidly over the gnome’s body – much faster than it had with Xera. Unlike the succubus, who had instinctively fought against the intrusion, Fizzy welcomed the affliction with open arms. It overtook her entire being within moments, but at the same time it also did so much more. It enveloped her. It embraced her. It freed her.

  It became her.

  [You have been afflicted by the Curse of the Steelshaper.]

  [Your willingness to embrace the curse has amplified its effect.]

  Something stirred deep within Fizzy. A horrifying gurgle came from her torso, but lasted only a brief moment before transitioning into a drawn-out, metallic groan, like steel scraping against steel. Though nobody knew what was going on – least of all the gnome herself – she took it all with a blissful smile, even though it hurt so much that it felt as though her organs were being stretched inside out. But it would soon be over. These few moments of agony were nothing more than the last, desperate cries her pathetic flesh would make before it was silenced forever.

  And then, finally, it ended.

  [Your species has become Metal Golem (Steel).]

  [Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Divine Beast.]

  [Congratulations, you are now a Level 1 Metal Golem! STR +3. END +3. AGI +2. FTH +1.]

  [Proficiency level increased. Metallopathy is now Level 1. INT +2. WIS +2.]

  When Fizzy next opened her eyes, she no longer felt cold, hungry or tired. She could feel neither the shoes on her feet nor the wind in her hair, which had become a decorative lump of metal. The former gnome shuddered delightedly at the lack of sensation. Though it had fought to the bitter end, her sinful flesh had nevertheless finally been cast away, like a gangrenous limb that needed to be amputated. A defect to be ironed out.