Evolve

by Derek Belfield

  As she neared him, she spit acid onto Hurgod's face, and his screaming entered another octave. Some of the acid splashed onto Slate, and he was surprised to find that it didn't affect him or Merus' flesh. Vindicia circled around the back of Hurgod's body and spat another globule of acid. The sound of sizzling skin increased in volume while Vindicia lifted her foot and slammed her heel repeatedly into the giant's face.

  Slate marveled at her strategery. She wouldn't be able to kill anyone like this, barefooted as she was. Her heel would probably crack before she did deadly damage to her opponent. However, if acid was softening the flesh and bone underneath it would only take a few strikes before she smashed her foot through Hurgod's brain.

  A few seconds later, a disgusting crunching sound reverberated from Hurgod's skull and Vindicia began to wipe the blood and brain matter on the grass around them. Slate slid out from under the corpse and looked down at himself. He had blood all over him, but no convenient way to get rid of it.

  "What the fuck is with you guys and weapons!?" Slate exclaimed. "I was specifically told that you weren't allowed to have weapons in this contest?" He questioned the female Guardian.

  She looked up at him as she was still cleaning off her foot and shrugged. "There's no such thing as a fair fight in the forest. We like to cheat." She gave him a teasing smile. Slate let the subject dropped and studied his system message.

  Congratulations! You have slain a level 30 Wood Elf! You have earned 2,000 experience split between your party. You are currently within a host body and can decide to give the experience to the host or to your own body! You cannot split the experience.

  Warning! You cannot earn any more experience. Experienced has been distributed to the other members of your party.

  Slate sighed as he received none of the expected experience. He should have figured that Vindicia would get all of it since she did the actual killing. He was irritated by his stupid level cap. Slate groused that the immortal that ran his life better figure this shit out soon

  A groan brought him out of his maudlin thoughts. He looked confused at where the groaning could be coming from. He saw Vindicia collapsed on the ground. She was clutching her abdomen and groaning loudly. Slate rushed over and placed his hands on her.

  "Vindicia! What's wrong?!" He asked, panic tinging his voice.

  The Guardian grunted through pained gasps. "It's evolving. Drag me closer to Hurgod's corpse. I need his flesh."

  Slate complied and watch as she used her tongue to dissolve and digest the biomass her parasite needed. Slate felt compelled to stay and help her, but Vindicia caught his eyes and stopped eating.

  "By Silvy's balls, what are you still doing here?! You need to get to Woodhaven and claim victory! The elders will guide you there." Slate paused to look at her, torn between leaving her and victory. He saw Vindicia's eyes harden. "LEAVE!" She shouted. Slate turned and pelted through the forest. Fear that he wouldn't make it in time propelled his every step.

  Merus tried to make him feel better about leaving. She'll be fine. She told us to go so she obviously knows she can handle whatever is happening. Trust me, she wouldn't sacrifice herself like an idiot. That's not her way.

  Slate supposed that the line of reasoning was logical, but he still couldn't get the sense of panic to go away. He was irritated at himself. What did he know about this woman? Absolutely nothing. Why was he feeling a tightness in his chest for her wellbeing? She was a tool, he told himself. Nothing more.

  Chapter 9: Heritor of Lucidus

  A combination of communion with the forest and Merus' guidance brought him quickly to the village of Woodhaven. Merus was concerned that Slate wouldn't be able to impersonate him well enough to fool the elder's council and the tribe's chief, Sumnu. He kept a constant stream of consciousness trying to prepare Slate for when he would have to pretend to be him. Slate didn't bother to tell the elf that he could rifle through all of Merus' memories and the parasite probably knew Merus better than the elf knew himself. It had been a simple matter to trick Cantor and Caldor to their deaths, but Merus seemed to have conveniently forgotten that fact. It helped that the intellectual elf didn't open up to many people outside of his wife, Lucelynia. Merus seemed nervous, though, and the talking helped him come to grips with his anxiety, so Slate let him continue. It didn't cost him anything to provide the occasional bit of positive feedback while he thought about his future plans.

  Slate wasn't even sure that the wood elves would have a problem with his possession of Merus. They were xenophobic sure, but they had predictability to their actions because of their unwavering loyalty to their forest deity, Silvys. They were so closed off from everything else that almost anything could be explained away by the influence of the forest god. It was a control technique the elder's council had taken advantage of many times in the future. A terrible accident happened? The forest provides. Good weather brought a higher than average harvest? The forest provides. A few dissidents catch an ax to the throat? The strong kill the weak, and the forest thrives. It was all so routine that Slate couldn't wait to use their own techniques against them.

  When Slate got his first look at the village, he took a moment to study it intensely. The way people lived said much about their culture. The elves of Woodhaven lived in massive trees that stretched high into the sky and towered over the forest around them. They were arrayed in a rough circle with the tallest tree in the center. Various floors of dwellings were carved directly into the tree or along its branches, and Slate witnessed elves walking along wooden bridges that connected all of the entire village together.

  The architecture where it wasn't a part of the tree itself, was organic with flowing curves. There weren't many hard angles or rough shapes. Every building seemed to fuse into the next as one continues woodland paradise. He noticed that there green fire torches dotting the city looking like the will-o-wisps from ghost stories. Every building and plant looked well-cultivated like a Chinese zen garden. It was a managed wilderness.

  Along the perimeter of the trees, farms stretched for half a mile or so in every direction. No trees were growing in this flat terrain, but shadow from the central trees still blocked the rising sun from shining on the field. Slate surmised that the elves would have to use nature magic to keep the massive trees from killing all the life around them by sucking all of the nutrients from the soil and blocking sunlight from their fellow flora.

  Once Slate entered the village proper, the elves in the height of their homes stopped whatever they were doing. When he studied them in return, a great beat drum began to reverberate through the surrounding. The beat was deep and throbbing like the beating of a heart. He watched as elves started to make their way deeper into Woodhaven to gather in its center. Not sure what to do next, Slate began to follow them deeper into the village.

  The forest floor underneath the actual homes were barren of any wild vegetation. Instead, carefully sculpted garden paths of fertile, healthy soil meandered around the massive trees. Plants of all kinds bordered the trail and fireflies, and multicolored insects flew around him sedately. Slate breathed deeply and felt invigorated by the scent of pure vitality surrounding him. Some of the plants around him also glowed with fluorescent light and every couple yards a wooden lamp post would light the way with green fire.

  The scene was idyllic, but Slate couldn't help but think of all the time wasted maintaining the relatively useless flora. The plant life served no defensive purpose and was clearly the hobby of bored citizens. He could think of much better uses for a stealthy, physically talented race of hunters.

  He soon navigated through the garden trail and arrived at a large gathering of elves in the center of the village. The crowd parted quietly, and he noticed a raised platform with a group of elves standing there clearly waiting for his arrival. The beating of the drums abruptly cut off, and the elves watched him silently. There was a solemnity to the moment that Slate was hesitant to break.

  As he stood there, the sun finally crossed the horizon
and lit up the sky with its splendor. Shooting rays landed on the trunk of the tree before Slate as if by magic. Slate doubted the light could have made it through the tree cover otherwise. A grinding, groaning sound began to emit from the wood and Slate jumped back in response, looking for a threat. As he did, his tail unwound itself from his waist and waited at the ready by instinct. He could hear a few gasps from the villagers in front of him, but he didn't care. He would slaughter this entire village before he allowed himself to ignobly die to a tree.

  As he warily watched the tree in front of him, the wood began to split, and like curtains opening, the wood parted to create an entrance. In unison, the thirteen individuals on the raised platform turned and entered the portal. Slate presumed that they were the elders and the chief. A quick perusal of Merus' memories confirmed his supposition. There were drummers on every side of the entrance to the tree, and they picked up a softer beat. There was a sense of urgency to it, and Slate felt himself wanting to follow the village leadership into the tree despite his healthy paranoia.

  He walked forward slowly, and as he did so, the crowd closed around him. As he passed people, they reached out to gently touch him. Some merely let him by with a brush of their fingers while others laid a hand on his shoulders or arm. The sensation made Slate's skin crawl, but he wasn't willing to kill his future people for merely touching him.

  When he reached the threshold, he paused to try and discern what he was walking into, but an opaque barrier covered the true, denying him the ability to see within. He took a deep breath and passed through the entrance. As he did so, he could hear the tree groan and close behind him.

  Slate found himself in an ample hollowed space in the bowels of the tree. Freestanding flames burned in a circle high above him. He counted twelve at each hour position. Unlike the fire outside, these were a piercing white-gold color. A large table with twelve carved chairs dominated the center of the room and a stylized sun composed of twelve flames was etched into the center with intricate detail. Just under each blaze, an elder stood patiently. Instead of the brown robes and leathers that Merus' memory told him they usually wore, they were garbed in ceremonial robes the color of spun silver and gold. Each one flashed with embroidered stars that made the reflect dazzling multi-hued light.

  Standing directly in front of him, Sumnu Stonebringer addressed him. "Welcome, Heritor." He said intensely. "We've been waiting for you."

  Slate's tail twitched irritably. He didn't like being expected. He felt like he was walking into a trap. "Why are you calling me that?" Slate asked.

  Stonebringer gestured to himself and the elder's surrounding him. "Your presence was foretold by our elder's council. Silvys spoke to them all and told them that you were coming to inherit the Lord of Light's power." Slate's eyes thinned. "Who is the Lord of Light?" He questioned.

  The chieftain looked at him in confusion. "You mean you've been walking her path without knowing who you served?" Slate didn't like the implication. He decided not to answer that particular question. He spied a throne on a raised dais behind the table and decided to ask one of his own. "What's that?" He asked, pointing at the throne. From this distance, it looked like it was carved to look like the writhing of snakes. On the back, there were battle scenes and complicated runes that Slate didn't recognize. Strangely, there was a silver chalice sitting on the throne.

  Sumnu shrugged casually. "Once you commune with Lucidus and claim the village of Woodhaven, it'll be your throne." Slate frowned. He could feel Merus' head reeling at all of the activity as well.

  "How exactly do I do that?" Slate asked, voicing his thoughts.

  "I'll show you," Sumnu replied as he walked toward the throne. As he did so, the elders made their way to the table and took positions at each seat.

  Slate remained rooted to the spot, still suspicious of this morning's festivities. He watched as Sumnu reached the throne and reverently lifted the chalice with both hands. The chieftain returned to his position in front of Slate, and the rest of the elves in the room watched them, with expectation in their eyes.

  Now that the chalice was closer, he had the chance to pick out details. It was silver with golden accents. Some runes covered the artifact that were unknown to Slate as well. Something about the chalice drew Slate closer. He couldn't take his eyes off of the object, it was so beautiful. The chieftain seemed to share his sense of quiet awe. He spoke in reverent tones. "This will endow you with the blessings of the Lord of Light Lucidus, and return the Guardians to their rightful place in the world."

  Slate raised an eyebrow. This was not how he imagined this moment going. He had expected to have to force these people to follow him through blood and sweat. He was now growing suspicious that he was a pawn in a much larger game. One that he wasn't sure he hadn't actually agreed to play. "Why?" He asked.

  The chief looked Slate in the eyes. His coal colored orbs were clouded with religious fervor. "It wasn't chance that brought you here to this place and at this time. The Lord of Light sent you to compete in the Reaping to show your worth to your future people, and you have survived. More than that," he said gravely. "You've thrived."

  "What about Silvys?" He wondered.

  Sumnu shared a fond yet sad smile. "Dead." He replied. "He has been gone since the last War of the Immortals. The Wyldwood was his last stand. It's a sanctuary and a promise of his revenge." The well-built elf went on. "Lucidus was the Lord of the Wyld's ally. She was the only one to escape this world, and he knew she would be the path to his revenge." The elf looked around the vast chamber they were in. Following his gaze, Slate noticed expansive and detailed tableau's carved onto the wooden walls. "That's why he created this place for her. It chronicles the War of the Immortals and the fall of the Lord of the Wyld. It has remained a secret of this council ever since."

  Slate considered the elephant-sized pile of cosmic shit he had stepped into. In his head, Merus was shocked into silence. The elf was overwhelmed with the new information, and Slate could sense a burning curiosity. For Slate's part, he didn't see any way out of the looming history he was stepping in to. He was enthralled by the story and by the implied challenge from the Lord of Light, but this was bigger than he ever imagined.

  While he was thinking, one of the elders stepped forward and held a silver dagger out to Slate. The knife itself was an artistic representation of the blade on his tail. Even the handle had a scaled pattern that could've been a more rugged version of his own. He picked up the dagger and was surprised at its heft. This was not a simple knife for cutting cheese, it was a ritualistic implement, and the concentration of mana was palpable to Slate. He feared to activate his mana vision for fear of blinding himself.

  He sighed aloud. "Let me guess, cut my palm and drip blood into the chalice?"

  Sumnu grinned at the parasite's words. "Pretty much," he replied. "Ritual magic using blood is one of the easiest ways to summon power outside of one's normal capabilities in this realm."

  "Here we go." Slate pressed the knife to his palm and reached over the table to where the chalice rested. With a slight press, blood dripped into the goblet. As the first drop landed, Slate felt himself being pulled from his body.

  Once again, he was surrounded by endless light. It was blue-white and clean. There was nothing to distinguish time or distance, and Slate's heart began to race. He looked around him and realized that he still had a body of sorts. His whole form was transparent, and parts of it would flicker and change like it hadn't decided what to become. The sight was as unusual as it was frightening.

  "Terrifying, isn't it?" A mellow and beautiful voice graced Slate's ears. Startled, he looked up and discovered the source. It was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was wearing only a pair of white shawls that had to be held up by magic. They wound around her arms and chest before descending and covering her modesty.

  The shawls never touched her skin and remained floating in the air around her. The sight of her covered in such a way made her more desirable rather than
less. It made Slate's mind imagine what it couldn't see rather than what it could. He wanted to experience what could be rather than what was. Slate had always thought it foolish that Troy and Sparta could've started a war over a single woman, but after looking at this paragon of femininity, he could now understand why.

  She looked similar to a wood elf but slightly different. Structurally they looked the same, strong jaws, high cheekbones, lean and lithe bodies, and larger than human eyes that seemed to convey every emotion. The difference is that where wood elves had brown, brown-green, or brown-grey skin and every tone in between, this woman's skin looked like polished silver.

  It wasn't a metallic silver exactly, but a purity that shone so brightly that one could mistake it for silver. Her skin had a glow to it that seeped otherworldly vigor and added to her beauty. Her hair was made of spun gold. It was so elegant and finely wrought that a miser would be happy for the rest of his life if only for having touched one perfect hair. Her eyes were deep pools of gold that drew the eye and sucked them into their depths until there was no escape.