Threadbare Volume 1

by Andrew Seiple

  Emmet stomped toward the stairs and fell off the railing, with an enormous crash. A lot of yelling came from downstairs, and Threadbare realized that hey, there were guards inside the house too.

  “Is it clear?” Celia whispered from the end of the hallway.

  Threadbare toddled back and shook his head no. No, the direct approach seemed to be pretty much suicide.

  WIS +1

  “Ohhhh... Fump it!” Celia swore. She glanced up. “The attic window’s broken. Come on, let’s move.”

  It took some careful balancing and scrambling to get up into the attic. Half of the house was burning, and the heat sweltered down on them as they scrambled through the boxes and crates, until they heard voices. Celia lay down, and squinted through the cracks. Threadbare did too.

  They saw Caradon, in his bedroom, laying against the wall. He was bruised and battered and bloody, with his apron torn and tools spilling around him. Next to the old man, squatting on her haunches, with one red-nailed hand wrapped around his throat, was a familiar figure.

  “You!” Celia gasped, then covered her mouth.

  Anise Layd’i looked up. She squinted, as Celia pulled away from the crack, covering her mouth...

  Metal-shod boots clanked, boards creaking below, as the crimson-armored behemoth stomped into view. Celia looked back, sighed silently in relief as she saw Anise standing, looking away from the ceiling... a sigh that turned to a gasp as she saw the armored man wasn’t alone. Five twisted black blades orbited him, the demonic faces on them gibbering and looking around with glowing green eyes as they circled and looped.

  She knew that spell. Sort of... It was Animus Blade, but what kind of blades were those?

  “You...” Caradon hissed with a venom Celia had never heard before. “You son of a bitch.” The old man stood, and Anise stood with him.

  “Are we alone?” The demon knight said, his voice deep and unearthly.

  “No,” Anise said, and pointed upward. “The girl.”

  Horns tilted as the man glanced upward and that was all the warning they had.

  Celia shrieked as five blades punched a hole in the ceiling around her, then shifted clockwise, cutting through the floor. Before she or Threadbare could do anything, the girl fell through the floor, into the room below.

  No! Celia!

  Threadbare threw himself through the hole, going after her—

  —and one of the demon blades twisted, blurred into position under him, and shot upward.

  SHUNK!

  CON +1

  Your Golem Body Skill is now level 20!

  Your Toughness Skill is now level 12!

  Max HP +2

  The sword pinned Threadbare to the roof of the attic. The blade sunk in easily and kept on going, until the hilt slammed against him, stuffing spilling out, spraying to either side of him as he felt the blade rip through.

  He hung there, suspended, as a red ‘159’ filled his vision, and floated up through the ceiling.

  “You leave Daddy alone!” Celia yelled, shouting, going red in the face as she ran to Caradon and hugged him.

  The old man, staggered, clasped Celia to his apron. He stared at the demon knight, and the womanlike thing that smiled serenely next to the intruder.

  “Please, just let us go!” Celia howled.

  “I can’t do that, Cecelia,” The demon knight rumbled. He waved his hand, and his whirring blades fell silent one by one, landing in a clatter on the floor. The one holding Threadbare blackened as he stared at it, green eyes fading out and fiendish face twitching before it fell still. But it was still stuck in him, holding him suspended above the people below.

  “It’s time to go,” the demon knight continued. “Here. Invite Cecelia. I’ll explain everything.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  “Yes you are. It’s time to go home.”

  “This is my home!”

  “Judging by those flames, not for very much longer,” Anise said, smling serenely. A smile that turned to a gasp of pain, as the Demon Knight glared at her, and a green ‘84’ floated out from her head as she recoiled.

  “Now is not the time for your brand of twisted humor, dear.”

  “Sorry love,” Anise caressed his visor, pretending to forgive the moxie damage he’d just dealt her. “I’ll behave for now.”

  “What did you do to her,” Caradon rumbled, finding his courage in outrage. “Why is that thing wearing Amelia’s face!”

  “Wait, what?” Celia whipped her tear-stained face away from his apron. “You’re... my mother?”

  Anise winked at Celia.

  “No, it’s... run, Celia! Run!” Caradon shoved her toward a window—

  —and the armored figure shook his head. “Distant Animus, invite sheets,” he said before the little girl could react. The sheets peeled off of the wrecked bed and wrapped Celia before she could escape.

  Caradon grimaced. “Ani—”

  Anise punched him, and he fell, with a bloody nose.

  “This is pathetic, old man,” The demon knight said. “Especially against your own family.”

  “You’re no blood of mine!” Caradon growled, hand over his nose.

  “No. But I’m blood of hers,” The figure said, pointing to Celia. “And you’ve kept her from me long enough.”

  “I... I don’t understand.” Celia said, from her binding among the sheets.

  “He never told you, did he?”

  “Told me what?”

  “Don’t listen!” Caradon shouted, then Anise was hauling him up, and wrapping her hand around his mouth.

  The demon knight bowed his head. Then he reached back behind his helm. “Hello Cecelia...”

  And as clasps fell away, the big man lifted away the horned helm, revealing a stern face, almost luminescent green eyes, and a manelike spray of red, frizzy hair.

  The same kind of hair that Celia combed every morning, and had wrestled with all her life.

  “...I’m your father,” said King Melos Ragandor the First.

  “What?” Celia said, shocked beyond belief. “That makes no sense! I... no.”

  “Tell her, Caradon,” Melos said, sitting heavily on one of the room’s few remaining intact chairs. “Tell her how you’ve been lying to her all these years.”

  Celia looked up to Caradon—

  —and saw the old man bow his head. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

  “Daddy?” She whispered, feeling hope sink in her chest. Feeling the first sting of betrayal.

  Sighing, Melos gestured, and the sheets holding Celia fell away. She took a few hesitant steps, then ran to stand before Caradon. She stared up at him, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

  “Celia...” Caradon started, then choked. He cleared his throat, opened his eyes, and the pain within them made her flinch back. “I’m your grandfather. Amelia was my daughter, not my wife.”

  “You raised Amelia well, Caradon. But you never did like me much.” Melos shrugged. “Not that it mattered. She loved me.”

  “And you killed her!” Caradon found his anger once more, his hands whipping out, grabbing fast to Celia’s shoulders.

  “Ouch! Dad—” Celia bit her tongue. She couldn’t call him that anymore, could she? Then what he’d said sunk in and her face twisted into hatred as she stared at her father. “You! Did you kill her?”

  “No!” Melos looked shocked. “No, no no no no. I swear to you, I swear!” The armored figure fell to his knees, stretching out a gauntleted hand. Celia flinched back, and pain flashed across the demon knight’s face. Then his visage hardened, and he glared up at Caradon. “Was that what you told her, you old fool?”

  “I told her nothing of her father.” Caradon said, his own face harder than stone. “And please, I can read between the lines. Six heroes go down into the dungeon, and the dark knight alone returns alive. Then the King ‘mysteriously’ passes away. And who takes the throne, but the lone survivor?”

  “You have no idea what went on down t
here, old man. You have no idea how I lost my wife!” Melos roared, climbing to his feet, glaring down at Caradon’s stooped frame. “How I lost the few people in this world who trusted me!”

  Celia tore from Caradon’s grasp, and ran to the corner, huddling, her hands over her head. “Stop it stop it stop it! Please stop fighting! Please just... stop...”

  Above them, Threadbare stirred.

  He didn’t quite understand the situation, not in its entirety, but Celia needed him.

  Slowly, carefully, he tried to work the blade loose. But he had no leverage. He put his paws against the ceiling and pushed, trying to get it to come out of the wood...

  Rriiiippp...

  A red ‘3’ floated up, and he stopped. He was too soft, and the cut was too wide. He couldn’t wiggle free of the blade without damaging himself. He bent over as best he could, staring at the hilt. How? How could he get off this without literally tearing himself apart?

  Below him, Melos was talking again. “I’m... sorry, Celia. But the truth hurts, and there are things we must set straight now. I don’t want...” He palmed his face. “I never wanted this.” He said, waving a hand at the house, the destruction, Caradon’s battered form... and the creature beside him, who was currently filing her nails. She looked up, put the nail file away, and smiled cheerfully at him.

  “You’re doing fine, my love. It’ll work out.”

  “I seem to recall ordering you to never lie to me.”

  “And I’ve kept that pact. Master.” She’d never said who it would work out for, after all.

  “She wears her face!” Caradon roared, his face blotching red. “She speaks in Amelia’s voice! What did you do, you blasphemous...” The old man’s anger faded, burned through him like a wildfire. “What did you do?” he whispered.

  “What I had to, Caradon. I’ve always ever done what I had to and only that. Which is why my friends trusted me, they knew I only did what I had to. You never saw that, in your self-righteousness. In your arrogance.”

  “Please just stop,” Celia whispered again.

  Threadbare tried another wiggle, and tore another seam. Stuffing spilled out, and a fleck drifted past Caradon’s head, just as Melos shifted to look at Celia.

  Caradon looked up.

  Hope filled his eyes, and he spoke under his breath, barely a whisper.

  And words flashed in front of Threadbare.

  Caradon Gearhart has Invited you to join his party! Do you wish to accept? y/n?

  The old man’s eyes filled with hope, as Threadbare thought yes. Hope and pride, for his wayward creation, for the first time ever.

  Melos spoke again. “Do you know that I was the one who sent her to you, Caradon?”

  “What? Impossible! Amelia...”

  “Amelia was dead. I put her ashes in an urn, and entrusted her and Cecelia to Emmet. It took the last command golem scroll she’d left behind, but I sent him on to you. I knew you wouldn’t trust me if I showed up with her, but you’d trust Emmet when he showed up with your infant granddaughter crying in his arms. You’d helped make him, after all, you and my wife, working together.”

  “You were the one? Why?” Caradon paled. “I wondered, but I figured... some sort of failsafe...”

  Meanwhile, above him, Threadbare found his form charged with power he could barely imagine! The old man had two skills that applied, one from animator that charged his personal creations in his party with power proportionate to his will, and one from golemist that buffed up any golems in his party.

  But though they raised all of Threadbare’s attributes and his maximum HP, they did nothing for his wounds.

  Threadbare tried to tug the sword free again, but even with his strength, he had no leverage. And as he turned to put his paws on the ceiling again, his buffed intelligence told him that he’d literally rip himself in two if he wasn’t careful, so very careful with this.

  Fortunately, his agility had just gotten the biggest buff it had ever had. He started to squirm again...

  “I sent her to you as soon as I knew I had to take the throne. I knew I had enemies, and would have more, who would strike at me through her. And I knew you would raise her right.” Melos sighed. “And I wanted you to have some time with your granddaughter, old man. I’m not the monster you think I am. I just use monsters.” He gestured, the demonic faces in his armor leering and gnashing their teeth. “But as hideous as demons are, they pale next to the evil that men do. When I found out that you’d turned traitor, started helping the resistance, I gritted my teeth and let it be. You were old, senile, but I’m used to spite. I kept a watch on you and let you be. But then I beat Balmoran, and captured the Earl. He talked before he died, Caradon. He told me of the betrothal. Of how you’d planned to marry my daughter to the son of my most treacherous enemy!”

  Celia lowered her hands. Face puffy from tears, her body shaking like a leaf, she stared at Caradon. “What?”

  The house groaned and shook, and Melos shot a glance back. “Party screen,” Caradon muttered, then he paled. He shot a look up at Threadbare, and shook his head. “Stop,” he mouthed. He’d seen Threadbare’s hit points. He knew what would happen if the teddy dropped now.

  Unnoticed, Anise followed his gaze, glanced up to Threadbare as well. She smiled, then turned her eyes to Celia, drinking in the girl’s shifting expression.

  “Betrothal?” Celia asked.

  Caradon flinched. “We had to... we had to keep you safe. We thought he would win...”

  “He promised Balmoran an army of golems, with you commanding them. And your bloodline to theirs, so they had a legitimate heir to the throne.” Melos said. “But that’s neither here nor there. Now I have Emmet, upgraded to its full potential. And I have you, and with Balmoran gone, we are finally, finally safe.”

  “I don’t feel safe at all,” Celia said, shivering. “I’ll never feel safe again.”

  And Threadbare writhed, to hear the pain in her voice. He reached out again, as another seam gave, and a red ‘5’ spilled past his head. But he couldn’t get past the hilt that trapped him in place.

  “Come. Anise, take her home. I’ll get Caradon into custody.”

  Celia stepped back into the corner. “I don’t... I don’t know... Who to trust...”

  “It’s a moot point,” Melos said. “You have to come with me now, and you don’t have the power to stop me. That’s how the world works. It hurts me too. I have to do what I must and I hate it. That’s what growing up’s all about, Cecelia. That’s what Caradon has been sheltering you from. But we have far too much to do. We have responsibilities, and— oh just go with her Anise, that fucking fire is going to drop the wall in a few minutes.”

  Celia shook, as Anise approached, offering one red-nailed hand. Her head twisted back and forth between Melos and Caradon. “You won’t hurt him? Please? If I go with you willingly you won’t hurt him?”

  “I won’t hurt him. But he must answer for his crimes. You won’t see him again for a very long time, I’m afraid.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  She gave Anise her hand. Anise handed the scrolls off to Melos, pulled out a crystal, and threw it to the floor. “Teleport Castle Cylvania,” she declared.

  And in a flash, both of them were gone.

  Threadbare sagged.

  Here he was, filled with the most strength and resilience he’d ever had, and he was powerless to stop it. Any of it.

  The fire raged on, snapping and popping, filling the room with smoke as Melos stared at Caradon.

  “I’m not going into custody, am I—” Caradon’s speech cut off as Melos crossed the room in two fast strides, grabbed him, and shoved something in his mouth. Caradon gagged and coughed, but the demon knight forced him to swallow.

  “What... wha...” Caradon twitched.

  “Numbing powder. I won’t hurt you because you won’t feel a thing.” Melos pulled out a curvy dagger, and put Caradon on the bed, just out of Threadbare’s sight. “The pe
rks of being a cultist, you learn to say things very, very carefully. I promised Cecelia I wouldn’t hurt you, and that she wouldn’t see you again for a very long time. She won’t, she’ll have a long life ahead of her. You’ll have plenty of time to reminisce with her in the afterlife.”

  “So you’re killing me... for... vengeance?” Caradon gasped out.

  “No. You leave me in a hard spot, old man. I have to do something horrible, because of you. You see, you’re the only Golemist left in the kingdom. The only one who’s cracked the unlock for that. You had the right idea with an army of golems, after all. Golems don’t betray you. Golems don’t lie. I could use an army of loyal, tireless, honest monsters. And I don’t think you’re going to teach me golemist, are you? Not even if I ask nicely.”

  Silence for a bit. Melos barked joyless laughter. “I figured. And I’ll need it to teach Cecelia, for her to follow in her mother’s footsteps, since you held her back too long. I can’t trust you near her, Caradon. You spoiled her for too long. You made her weak. I’ll make her strong, so strong, and I’ll hand her a kingdom all of her own. But first, I need golemist from you. Fortunately before I became a ruler, I was a cultist. And we have a ritual, just for this.”

  “You... bas...trrrrd....” Caradon slurred.

  “It works a bit easier if I’m in your party, but you’ll never invite me so oh well. Still, it should do. You’re all alone here, Caradon. Golems can’t learn, Amelia taught me that, so it’s just you and me. The rite will benefit the closest person if you’re not in a party, and well, here we are. Any last words?”

  “Go to Hell....”

  “Every night, Caradon. Every night. Rite of Reclamation!”

  Words popped up in next to Threadbare’s head.

  CARADON GEARHART HAS OFFERED YOU A PRIVATE QUEST

  DETAILS: SAVE CELIA. I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT. I AM PROUD OF YOU, MY SON.

  REWARD: NINE THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED AND SIXTY TWO EXPERIENCE POINTS

  COMPLETION: WHEN CELIA IS SAFE

  DO YOU WANT TO ACCEPT THIS QUEST? Y/N

  Yes. Yes he would. He didn’t know how, but he would.

  Threadbare shuddered, as he heard wet noises below him, and Caradon fell silent for the last time.