by Neven Iliev
Unless said mortal happened to be Fizzy. The shiny Paladin had discarded such bothersome mental baggage along with her flesh. Though she despised the weakling she used to be with a burning passion, she unconditionally loved her current self with her entire being. Everything she did was right and everyone who thought otherwise – besides Boxxy – was wrong. Such was the warped perspective of a metal golem obsessed with themselves. A Parallel spawned of such thoroughly egotistical and narcissistic thoughts had no choice but to develop a similar mindset while sharing the same body. As a result, both Fizzy and her new ‘sister’ ultimately agreed on everything even if their slightly divergent personalities clashed sometimes.
“Ugh. I mean, you have a point,” the Parallel relented. “That said, I may be just a Skill, but I have thoughts and feelings too! Or, rather, those are the only things I have whenever you’re not using me! So, like, the least you could do is be more polite to me!”
That worked both ways, which was precisely why the golem couldn’t help but reconsider her attitude upon hearing those words. So far, she had treated this secondary consciousness as some annoying interloper, but that was no longer how she truly felt. Over the short time they had been together, this Parallel made no demands other than repeated requests to be treated fairly. More importantly, she supported Fizzy wholeheartedly whenever the golem accepted her aid.
“I suppose… we did make a pretty good team back there,” the Paladin admitted. “You’re right. I should be kinder to you. I mean, you’re basically me, and nobody is more deserving of my grace than myself.”
“Yeah!” the voice cheered. “We’re pretty reasonable when we listen to ourselves, huh?”
“Exactly,” the golem nodded. “There’s just one thing that’s been bugging me. You don’t have a name, right?”
It would certainly help Fizzy adjust her mindset if she stopped referring to the Parallel as ‘you’ or ‘that.’
“Now that you mention it… no, I suppose I don’t. I could use yours, but that doesn’t feel right. As much as I am you, I am also me. Therefore, I would much prefer a name I could call my own.”
“My thoughts exactly. Which is why I’ve decided to call you Plus.”
“Oh? Oh-hoh! That works on so many levels! I shall gratefully accept this brilliantly clever name from myself, to myself, on behalf of myself. Way to go, me!”
“Heh-he, I am pretty smart, aren’t I?”
“Yup. An absolute genius, I daresay.”
“Ack-hem!” the golem mimicked clearing her throat. “Now then, Plus, I need to pay homage to Jordan while I have the chance, so do be quiet.”
“Aye, aye, cap’n!”
“… Don’t call me that.”
“Too far?”
“Too far.”
“Right, sorry. I’ll shut up now.”
Fizzy quickly surveyed the battlefield. Honestly speaking, it was more of a skirmish than an actual battle since both sides had only about thirty people. The region’s dense pinewood forests forced the Imperial army to slow their advance to a crawl as they steadily cut their way through the brush. The Republic’s initial hit-and-run operations proved successful in delaying them even further. The rough terrain and dense foliage made it horribly impractical for anything larger than a platoon to traverse the Rainy Woodlands which worked in the defending nation’s favor. They could strike at the enemy and retreat without fear of the much larger invading force earnestly giving chase.
The Empire’s leadership eventually realized this and started sending smaller, heavily armed units ahead of the main force. These scouting patrols formed a wide security perimeter, greatly reducing the mobility and effectiveness of the Republic’s guerrilla tactics. The elves, in turn, momentarily gave up on hindering the main force or their supply lines and instead focused on thinning out enemy numbers by ambushing as many advance troops as possible. It was as close to a fair fight as they were going to get, so they tried to make the most of it.
Unfortunately for them, the Empire soldiers on the eastern front had grown familiar with all of their tricks. Not only that, but their crushing defeat at Fort Yimin served as a wakeup call. Although they were still confirming the details of what exactly happened in that massacre, the Lodrak Empire’s top brass ordered the field commanders to put caution above all else during their advance through the Rainy Woodlands. As a result, although many ambushes succeeded, an equal number of them failed. And when an ambush was thwarted, the situation rapidly deteriorated into an all-out brawl.
That was exactly how this particular skirmish started. Under normal circumstances, the Empire would have had the upper hand in open combat with equal numbers, but Fizzy’s presence tipped the scale in the elves’ favor. After all, she took down three significant threats and at least seven more soldiers all by herself. At that point, it was only a matter of time before her side emerged victorious, although the humans probably didn’t realize that quite yet. The dense forestry obscured vision, making it difficult to confirm the status of allied combatants. This problem was exacerbated whenever the fighting broke up into a loose collection of smaller scuffles scattered throughout the area. That had been the case with Fizzy’s unit, which was why she didn’t have any hostiles within her immediate surroundings. The Paladin seized this chance and knelt with her hands together, then offered a brief yet sincere prayer to the God of Variables.
She started as she usually did, thanking Clara for her mithril body, which wouldn’t have come to her were it not for Her guiding hand. Next, she praised Alberto for the Artificer job, which allowed her to gain unparalleled understanding of said glorious frame. She exalted the Goddess of Happenstance for granting a pitiable creature like Cornie Fizzlesprocket the privilege of being a champion to such a simple yet infinitely complex deity. She also expressed gratitude for the miraculous combination of Jobs that, despite her preconceptions, worked together harmoniously and efficiently. Fizzy was a perfect working example of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. In some ways, she considered herself the crowning achievement of her own career as an Artificer.
Above all, the golem thanked Peter for her current lot in life. She was confident, strong, and had someone that considered her irreplaceably precious. It didn’t matter to Fizzy if this outcome was a direct result of her deity’s influence or whether it was all blind luck. She wouldn’t be bothered if something else entirely was behind the chain of events leading to her present situation. Whichever the case, it was crystal clear that if anyone deserved gratitude and reverence – aside from Boxxy, herself, and maybe her other self – it was Crusty, the God of Instability.
“-and let thy toast never fall buttered-side down. Cheesecake.”
[A special action has been performed. FTH +1. LCK +1.]
After ending her prayer in a somewhat unorthodox manner, Fizzy received a silent confirmation that her words of thanks were both heard and appreciated. The fact that she had gotten not one, but two Attribute boosts showed that Tortuga was extremely pleased with her devotion. This, in turn, raised the Paladin’s own spirits. The golem opened her eyes and stood up. Her fully restored and smoking-hot mithril body glittered radiantly in the morning sun. She put her shield-bearing side forward, threw her deformed wrench over her shoulder, and scanned for what was left of the Empire’s unit. Her sharp ears heard what sounded like two Rangers trading arrows just thirty meters ahead, behind some slightly burning bushes.
“Now then,” she mumbled to herself, “let’s go find the sorry sack of fuck that dared to shoot me in the bumper.”
“Yeah!” Plus cheered, then paused for a second. “Wait, bumper?”
“I mean my ass,” the golem’s eyes did a roll.
“Oh, right. Uhm… Let’s get ‘im!”
While the moment was thoroughly ruined, it wasn’t as bad as the uppity meatbag’s face would soon be.
[General Information]
Cornie Fizzlesprocket
Metal Golem (Mithril), Female, 22 years old
Member of Hammers of Horkensaft
Level 58.31 Arclight Artificer
Level 36.33 Paladin
Level 33.12 Metal Golem
1974/1974 HP (+3.1/sec)
1105/1105 MP (+1.8/sec)
[Attributes]
STR 399, DEX 195, AGI 148, END 315, INT 221, WIS 187, PER 157, FTH 146, LCK 51
[Arclight Artificer Skills]
Clockwork Expertise – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Explosives Handling – Lvl 8.28
Deconstruction – Lvl 7.53
Optics Expertise – Lvl 5.03
Physics – Lvl 7.34
Component Forging – Lvl 9.42
Tick Counter – Lvl 6.91
Upgrade – Lvl 5.15
Electrical Expertise – Lvl 3.33
[Paladin Skills]
Champion of Chaos – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Toughness – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Strength of Faith – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Holy Scripture – Lvl 9.21
Divine Wrath – Lvl 7.85
Bonecrusher War Art – Lvl 4.55
Parallel Plot – Lvl 2.05
[Metal Golem Skills]
Heavy Metal – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Armored Charge – Lvl 7.46
Advanced Joints – Lvl 6.10
Magnetize – Lvl 4.95
Engine of Destruction – Lvl 2.48
[Other Skills]
Metallopathy – Lvl 6.73
Mentor – Lvl 3.63
Dagger Mastery – Lvl 4.06
Shield Mastery – Lvl 9.85
Holy Mastery – Lvl 11.53
Mace Mastery – Lvl 12.29
[Spell and Martial Arts]
Holy Spells – Holy Light, Consecrate, Cleanse, Judgment
Other Spells – Parallel Zero, Parallel One
Bonecrusher War Arts – Grand Slam, Shield Wall, Heavy Gong, Rebound
Part Two
Three people stood at the foot of a five-meter-tall stone wall. They wore matching gray uniforms with black lining, which signified their shared allegiance to the Republic despite their disparate races. The one in charge seemed to be the dwarf. His greasy black hair was tied in a ponytail and a marvelous beard covered the vast majority of his face. At a glance, it was obvious he groomed the latter with much more care than the former. His eyes were closed and his ear was against the wall as he tapped the rock several times with a small mallet. He shuffled about ten paces to the right and repeated the process. This went on for almost half an hour.
When he was done with his inspection, he put away his mallet and frowned deeply, though one could hardly tell from all that beard in the way.
“Is something the matter, Mentor Boneshudder?”
The elf man with lime green hair seemed to notice the short one’s disapproval.
“Yeah, something’s the matter!” the dwarf went off on him. “I’m getting tired of seeing shoddy construction like this! It pains me to think all that hard work and quality material wouldn’t last even a decade before it fell over on its own.”
His pointy-eared apprentice scratched his neck nervously while the female, blonde-haired gnome rolled her blue eyes in exasperation.
“This again, you old fart?” she raised her voice. “Even I can tell they did an amazing job given the short notice. You need to be more respectful of other people’s circumstances. They might not have a decade!”
“Feh!” he scoffed. “As if a pipsqueak Artificer like you could understand an Architect’s work. Go get a real Job, then we’ll talk!”
“I think I’ll pass. Your ‘real Job’ clearly left you in a state of dementia. Too much breaking boulders with your forehead, I bet!”
“Still a better use for the old noggin’ than thinking up that faulty junk you keep making.”
“Faulty junk?!”
Seeing as the argument was going somewhere quite unproductive, the elf inserted himself into the situation.
“Friends, please,” he stood between them, “calm yourselves. How many times are we going to go over this pointless squabbling? We’re all on the same side here!”
The dwarf and the gnome glared at each other around the much taller elf’s waist. Although inappropriate from a professional standpoint, the friction between them was only a matter of course. Professionally, Architects and Artificers almost never saw eye-to-eye. Even though both vocations required precision and planning, the scale and direction of their respective fields were completely different.
Architects were responsible for coordinating hordes of workers as they put together structures of all shapes and sizes. Shacks, houses, mansions, castles, even sewers and underground mines – all were touched by the hand of a skilled Architect if they hoped to stand the test of time. Or, in this case, the test of war. It was a noble and necessary calling that some considered the backbone of civilization. There was no greater honor for an Architect than creating a monumental work of art that would stand proudly for generations to come.
Artificers were on the opposite end of the construction spectrum. They worked day and night locked in their workshops to create intricate, delicate, and complex mechanisms. Unlike brick and mortar meant to be as still and sturdy as possible, an Artificer’s gadgets often had fleeting existences. Their creations stood the test of time not by simply existing, but through the ideas and concepts that went into their design. Knowledge that, fortune permitting, would guide and inspire others to keep turning the wheel of progress.
In short, Architects valued stability whereas Artificers sought innovation. Arguments between experts in those two fields were extremely common, though it wasn’t just these two vocations that had such a bumpy relationship. Most individuals considered their choice of Job something personal, intimate. It was more than just a means of earning a living or a bunch of points and words on their Status. For the enlightened, their Job reflected their desires, talents, and goals. Admittedly, not all had the luxury of choosing, but even those forced to take up a vocation against their will would end up holding certain views and opinions that lined up with their Job.
As such, it was inevitable that people would be at odds with one another purely because of their profession. The most egregious example was the relationship between Priests and Necromancers. They were mortal enemies at worst and hostile acquaintances at best. Warriors and Berserkers, on the other hand, scoffed at each other’s fighting methods while Bards and Artists argued over whose artistic medium was a superior means of self-expression. Wizards and Warlocks likewise butted heads over what constituted as ‘appropriate levels of destructive force’ when it came to their magic. Curiously enough, Pyromancers and Cryomancers were a poetic case of opposites attracting and got along like a house on fire.
Obviously, there were exceptions to these stereotypes on an individual level, but those were few and far between.
“I suppose it can’t be helped if the quality isn’t up to my standards,” the dwarf relented.
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” the gnome pouted. “Your standards are just too damn high, old man.”
“You’re one to talk, Jessie,” the elf smirked. “I hear your guys complaining about how you make them redo their work because it’s not good enough.”
“W-well, it can’t be helped. Shoddy Artificer work is the type of thing that gets people killed.”
“It’s the same with Architects you know. I’m sure you’d rather not have your house fall down on you while you slept.”
“Obviously not, but if I had to choose, I’d much rather a building collapse on me than be at the receiving end of a faulty Tree-Trimmer,” she shuddered.
“Whatever. My verdict still stands,” the dwarf slapped the wall. “I’m ashamed to have my name associated with this hack-job!”
“Look, Master Boneshudder, can we forget about ten years from now and focus on the next few weeks? The Empire is almost at our doorstep.”
The dwarf looked up and down the wall encompassing the southern half of the city of New Whitehall. It
was the last line of defense within the Rainy Woodlands, otherwise known as the eastern front. It was the nerve center of the entire region which meant that if the city fell then the entire province would follow, striking a serious blow to the Republic’s war efforts. Boneshudder wholeheartedly agreed with his long-eared apprentice and blonde-haired advisor that the imminent danger was a far more pressing matter. However, he failed to accurately communicate why he was so adamant about the fortification’s longevity.
“Look, I feel like you’re not getting my point,” he tried to explain himself. “If this glorified fence can’t stand for ten years on its own, then the Imperial war machine will knock it over in twenty minutes. Maybe an hour if we’re lucky.”
Indeed, ‘glorified fence’ was the best way to describe New Whitehall’s defenses compared to actual strongholds. Fort Yimin’s monumental walls, for instance, would have lasted days, maybe even weeks before the Empire broke through them with conventional siege warfare. Admittedly, a single Ranker had punched through those fortifications in an instant, but that had more to do with the absurd power of Ultimate Skills than some fault in the defenses’ construction.
“That’s still precious time where our troops will have the upper hand,” the elf pointed out. “I hear our side needs every edge it can get, no matter how expensive or wasteful it seems in the long run.”
“Such a crying shame, that. It pains me to see such good stone used so callously,” the old dwarf stroked the wall. “I suppose even achieving this level of stability is more or less a miracle, all things considered.”
He spoke harshly about the state of the fortification because he was a perfectionist. He hated making compromises, but knew deep down it was necessary. Looking at the circumstances objectively, he had to admit the zeal that those Legionnaires worked with was extraordinary. In all his years as an Architect, Boneshudder had never seen so much rock and mortar move in such a short amount of time, let alone assembled into a barely passable excuse for a wall.
This logistical feat was only possible because of the Forest Gate laying at the center of New Whitehall. That marvel of magical engineering allowed for the transfer of large amounts of materials and manpower across vast distances in a matter of seconds. There was a time and weight limit to how much could be transported per day, which was why the Republic also made use of the Skyfall River that ran west-to-east through the northern part of the city. That massive body of water that had a width of well over two hundred meters served as a secure water route that ran within spitting distance of the capital. Additionally, it flowed in all the way from Cloudburst Mountain hundreds of kilometers to the north, which was the main source of the Republic’s masonry materials.