by Noam Oswin
I could – could have decided to start explaining, but I chose not to. Instead, I focused on the realization that I could speak.
“How... how is it that I can suddenly speak?”
“All named masakh are immediately granted the ability to speak upon being named.”
That was it? All I needed to do all this while, to be able to talk, was to have a name? It seemed so stupidly obvious in hindsight that I’d never even bothered considering it. And to think that Janje had offered me a name when I first met her –
No, not Janje. Zlosta. It was Zlosta now.
I wanted to feel bad about the deaths of the Druids. I wanted to look around and feel something remotely resembling empathy for their suffering. Perhaps feel some righteous sense of anger at their torture and demise, and transfer this anger to the one responsible.
Yet – I couldn’t.
I couldn’t care less.
If anything, I was more concerned about the fact that I did not care about them, than I was about their deaths. Now that I could speak – I could communicate – the lives of a few hundred strangers were irrelevant in lieu of my grand prize of sweet, beautiful communication.
“Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water –”
“Twinkle twinkle little star –”
“To be or not to be, that is the question –”
“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen –”
“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way –”
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way –”
Zlosta looked at me in further, increasing confusion, and I laughed at her befuddled expression.
I laughed.
The realization only brought on more laughter. The sound reaching I could hear was better than anything in the world I could have ever conjured. It was madness, madness that I had no lungs and yet laugh... and laugh I did. I laughed until I dropped unto the floor and rolled, and I kept laughing –
Zlosta giggled, confused, but amused, and her giggling only made me laugh even harder. “Why are we laughing?”
I laughed even harder at the question. Why was I laughing? She was asking me why I was laughing? I was laughing because of only one reason:
I can laugh.
Amidst a burning village in a scorching forest, before a mass murderer of a witch having slaughtered dozens, I laughed, and she laughed as well. Nothing else in that moment mattered. Nothing else in the world mattered. The sight of Zlosta’s blood-splattered form laughing forced me to laugh until I was trying to force myself to stop. Forced me to laugh until I was slamming my fist into the earth in order to abate it. Zlosta laughed harder when she realized I could not stop laughing, and I laughed harder at Zlosta laughing harder, and on the cycle continued.
I can laugh.
Interlude VIII
Adversity
Every consequent boom from the artillery fire rattled his teeth and shook his bones. He could feel the shockwaves traverse across his entire body, feel the pressure of wind from the thunderous impact that slammed against the approaching drove of creatures.
Creatures the size of pillows, all with dark purple sheens and a liquid, gelatinous form moved across the flat terrain like a cup of honey spilling in excess. They lacked fangs, hands, legs, or identifiable lips and mouths. Dark purple blobs, merely stirring forward against blackened soil, approaching in the multitudes.
There in lay the problem. Approaching in the multitudes. There were too many to count. Even as the sky streaked red of fire and white of lightning, and artillery laid waste to their numbers, they were still too many to count.
Amidst the fact that a horde of nightmares approached them across the battlefield, they stood in formation, all six-hundred and forty-eight recruits, garbed in dull black uniforms, all of them holding a Sacrosanct Rifle in their arms.
He wondered if he was the only one aware of the mysterious decrease in numbers, but he doubted it. He still remembered the foreboding chill and crushing weight that was inflicted upon him by the High Eminent of War, and no doubt, several others did.
“Lance Brigade!” the woman that replaced Prominent Lance was tall and twice as intimidating. She strut across the battlefield, seemingly unbothered by the constant tremors, shakes and explosions. Her feet were actually, touching the ground, which was an unusual sight for a Prominent.
“Welcome to Sector One-Zero-One!” She said. “I am Prominent Macey, the one who oversees this particular sector, and here, we call this sector: the DD. That stands for Disvirgining Dome.”
Already, he could tell that some people were not comfortable with the affectionate nickname for the battlefield.
“This is where you pathetic lots pop your nightmare-killing cherries in a relatively safe and controlled environment.”
A particularly heavy shot slammed into the approaching herd of creatures, shaking the ground, raising dust and bespattering the purple blobs into indistinct splatters against the scorched earth. He, like many others, held his reservations about this being considered relatively safe.
“Before you is an approaching swarm of nightmares designated as NMR-003. You may be familiar with them.” She reached out, activating the godscript, and a roll of words and information immediately appeared before them.
[Nightmare Detected]
NMR-003
Common Slime
[Tier 2.0 Nightmare]
Info:
NMR-003 is a lower level nightmare which lacks significant attack, defense or magical power. It crawls at turtle’s pace and is often considered to be the weakest nightmare in Alamir. NMR-003 is generally harmless, until it comes into physical contact with a living creature.
NOTE: Escape from NMR-003 after direct contact is impossible.
More information about Nightmares and their dangers can be reviewed in the Nightmare Bestiary menu of the Godscript.
Several people muttered and scoffed under their breaths. “It’s just a slime.” He heard one say. “They’re like the fucking weakest things in the world.” Another grumbled. “I’ve put down dogs more dangerous.”
He would have complained, like the rest of them, but he knew the rhyme. Did no one else here know the rhyme? Slimes were weak, yes, and there was nothing particularly nightmare-inducing about them worthy of giving them their names or classification as nightmares –
Until they touched you.
He still remembered the midnight horror stories Father Goma whispered into his ears as he was growing, about the horrors of what happened to people that got touched by them. The rhyme that followed the stories – Don’t do crime or you’ll be grabbed by a slime – was something he passed down to his juniors at the orphanage.
Amidst the mutterings and snorts, he lightly flickered his gaze over to his left, where he could find Sophia narrowing her eyes in suspicion. He was thankful that she was at least taking it a bit more seriously.
Of course she is.
He’d seen her godscripts. In that brief, tiny moment following everyone’s shock and awe at realizing the information available, his gaze had stuck on his bunkmate who splashed him awake with a bucket of water. The information he saw was enough to make him realize that she was more than just hot air.
He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid, no matter how much Kuri would state otherwise. Sophia was one of the most talented recruits here, if not the most talented. Befriending her early before she began to shine, having her on his side before the stellar recognition came – it would go a long, long way to accomplishing his goal.
The taste wine has better be worth all this.
“You have all bee
n equipped with SR-88s.” Prominent Macey continued. “Some of you may know how to utilize Sacrosanct Rifles, in which case, you are privileged. To those of you with no knowledge of Alhamisian arms, REFER TO THE GODSCRIPT!”
He winced at the increase in volume.
“The godscript is your guide! It is your partner! It is your lover! Your favorite sex-worker! Your Holy Book! You will know it inside and out, and understand every aspect of it!” she continued. “EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW IS IN THE DAMNED GODSCRIPTS!”
Prominent Macey turned her attention to the slowly moving drove of slimes, before raising her hand into the air. Just like that, the artillery barrage stopped. Sector One-Zero-One was dead silent.
“In a perfect fucking world where all are created equally, the AAA would have focused on the collectivism of its members. Foolishly, we tried that one-hundred and seventy-five years ago.” She gestured her palm outward. “This was before the Fate-Latency Test. Before we knew for sure if a person was destined for greatness, or had the latent ability to alter their shitty lives and change their mediocre fate. This was when we understood that in Alamir – no one is born equal.”
She clenched her fist, a stony expression landing on her face. “Know that a great destiny can only ever be forged from bloody hellholes. A farmer destined to become king will never attain it unless his crops wither and die, his lands are set ablaze, his wives and daughters captured by slavers and fucked in front of his barren lands. Adversity! Adversity will turn the farmer’s hoe into a weapon! Adversity will drive the farmer on a path to ruin or salvation! Overcoming adversity after adversity – this is how greatness is made!”
The silence was thick. Damning. Slowly, he began to understand what Prominent Macey was implying.
“This is the same for us lucky Adventurers. We grow from adversity. The greater the adversity we overcome, the faster our rate of growth. The Godscripts help us quantify and understand this growth in the form of ‘Levels’ and ‘Experience.’ Through this, we can structure ourselves however we desire. Want to be super strong? You can. Fast? You can. Want to charm the pants of someone? As long as you remember the AAA rules, you can. And if you want to be able to use the esoteric Mystic Arts – overcome adversity, and make that your bitch.”
There were murmurs. Excited whispers. He could feel his chest suddenly beating harder behind his ribs at that revelation. He could improve every aspect about himself from slaying nightmares? Was that – was that possible? No, it was, it was and the ramifications were as exhilarating as they were terrifying.
“Some of you here are blessed with extraordinary aptitudes for Mysticism and some of you are not. Some of you possess a Flair, and some of you do not. Your FLT Scores and MAT scores tell us in theory the differences you possess, but out here on the Disvirgining Dome – I don’t give a fuck about your scores.”
She pointed toward the battlefield. “What I, and the AAA, and every damned person in Alhamis gives a fuck about, is whether or not you’re capable of killing as many fucking nightmares as you can to ensure that none of them ever reach our streets. Whether or not you’re capable of overcoming adversity.” She rapidly turned to them. “Well, are you?!”
“YES MA’AM!”
“Then your task is simple.” She said. “There are about seven-hundred of you. NMR-003 approaches. Eliminate every single slime from the field utilizing whatever you can. You will be scored depending on how many you kill, and the person with the highest kill-count can make one request within the AAA, regardless of what it is, that will be accepted.”
The air burst with excitement. One request that will be accepted. Juma’s mind raced. Is this my ticket?
“This is because the person with the highest-kill count has gained the most experience, and therefore will be the most worthy. If you desire to attain notability, overcome adversity. If you desire power, overcome adversity. If you desire wealth, overcome adversity. Overcome Adversity, and what you desire will be yours. Fail, and you will be redacted from the pages of history.”
“Do you understand your mission?!”
“YES MA’AM!”
“Are you ready to overcome adversity?!”
“YES MA’AM!”
Prominent Macey snapped to attention. “WHEN I SAY AAA, YOU SAY OVERCOMING ADVERSITY! AAA!”
“OVERCOMING ADVERSITY!”
“AAA!”
“OVERCOMING ADVERSITY!”
“A – A – A!”
“OVERCOMING ADVERSITY!”
“GO! GO! GO!”
The woman’s voice was electrifying. He almost found himself charging headlong into combat without the slightest preparation. People behind him did. They jostled and shifted him aside, letting out exhilarated battle cries as they faced down the horde of nightmares. It took him a second to follow them in their charge. It took him two seconds to catch up. It took him six seconds to outpace those who’d clearly never done much in the way of running before. Ten seconds was what it took for him to realize that there were people attempting to get physically close to the slime.
He locked his gaze down on his own weapon, the SR-88. Information about the schematics began to display itself nigh-automatically.
Weapon:
Sacrosanct Rifle-88
Owner:
AAA Recruit Juma
Creator:
Eminency of Progress, COMMA
Information:
The SR-88 is a high-performance long-ranged rapid-fire arm capable of firing repeated shots of mystic energy infused with the “Holy” Element. A long blade is attached to the end of the weapon which can be detached and used against opponents in melee range, and the conservation of ammunition. It utilizes a cartridge of specialized reminite and can fire an average of one-hundred and eighty-eight rounds before the cartridge requires replacement. Effective against most Tier 0 to Tier 2 nightmares, easy to assemble, clean and maintain, the SR-88 is the weapon of choice for most AAA recruits and NCOs.
Information about what end to hold and how to hold it rushed through his mind from the godscripts. He took aim, took a deep breathe, and immediately squeezed the trigger. There was no overwhelming sound or kickback as Father Goma said the Firearms of old had. There was only a brief flash of white, a sudden heat that permeated the weapon, and his target was suddenly no longer there.
Ping!
Nightmare Slayed!
50 Experience Points Gained!
Current Nightmare Kill Count: 1
There was a burst, a flush of adrenaline that rushed through his system at the realization that he killed something. He killed a nightmare.
“Hah! Like I’m going to waste ammo on a bunch of slime!”
He whipped his head over to source of the voice. It was one of his roommates, if he recalled. “Don’t get close!”
The tall raven-haired boy rushed forward toward the approaching herd of slime and slammed the blade of the SR-88 directly into the one closest in vicinity. “See? They’re just –”
The purple blob did not die. It was not even phased by the attack. Instead, it dragged the weapon, and thus, the boy holding the weapon into its fold. The boy swore, attempting to free himself with his second hand, only for them both to be engulfed.
All action on the battlefield ceased when the boy started convulsing. His eyes turned blank white. His face expressed bliss and his jaw was left wide open. People knew that the signs were, but they could not explain why he was having them.
“What the fuck –”
“Someone get him out of there!”
Juma was amongst the first to rush forward. Two other recruits appeared by his side. One took aim with his SR-88 directly at the creature and pulled the trigger before Juma could let out a shout.
The slime grabbing the boy exploded, and the boy exploded along with it. Blood, guts and gore splattered from the impact zone and it took Juma everything he had to avoid losing his lunch as pieces of intestines rained around him.
“W-what – what the hell just happened?!”
“I – I shot the slime! I – I shot it – why did he –”
“Look out!”
They – they’re noiseless. Juma understood. Just like in the stories – The slime did not generate any form of noise to announce their approach. They did not generate heat or charge with splendor, and if you made the mistake of not putting your eyes on them –
Two more fell to the slime grabbing their legs. Ramrod stiff they went, body shuddering and soft gasps escaping their lips before their eyes immediately lacked pupils. Drool fell from their opened mouths and their blissful visages, and Juma knew immediately that they were lost.
The slime climbed upon them, engulfed them, and raced until it started pouring itself down their mouths and throats, leaving it visibly bulging. It forced itself up their nostrils, forced itself into their ears and through their eyeballs, literally popping them out of the skull. It rushed into their fingers, sending the nails flying, and then it went down, down into their uniform and clothes where it was entering every possible orifice and attempting to create new ones.
Something started sizzling. The men’s stomachs inflated like balloons and their jaws rattled like a child’s toy. Skin melted like ice over an exposed matchstick, dripping off their body in layers and plopping to the floor. Flesh fell off bones like a skimpy nightgown on a tavern wench.
The bones did not fare any better. They dribbled like wax on an nervous candle, the remnants of whiteness blending into flesh and coalescing in a small shiny puddle.
The slime emerged from the puddle, and it belched.
It was the single loudest sound audible to every person in Sector Zero-One-Zero.
“FALL BACK!”
“FALL BACK!”
“DON’T GET CLOSE!”
“DON’T LET IT GRAB YOU!”
The forward charge became a hasty retreat to gain distance, and Juma was not comforted at the realization that the nursery rhyme was apt.
Don’t do crime or you’ll be grabbed by a slime!
Don’t do crime or you’ll be grabbed by a slime!