Step 2 lust a litrpg adv.., p.34
Step 2: Lust: A LitRPG Adventure (A Gamer's Guide to Beating the Tutorial), page 34
Although he hated to take his eyes from this creature that killed without a moment’s hesitation, Simel turned to look out the window. He could see a street, and people, and houses. It was as the creature said—they had indeed arrived at Sandshore.
He turned to look back at the creature. It stared at him with eyes that begged for praise. Simel gave it nothing.
By the way it looked down and away, Simel could fairly assume it was disappointed.
“Well, uh …” The creature looked up again, into a patch of air, focusing on something that wasn’t there, its dark pupils moving back and forth as though reading. “Since it might, um, interest you, we were actually walking through that desert for almost exactly thirty days! Meaning that I am now on the fourteenth attempt.” Its thin, scabby eyebrows squashed together in thought and Simel let a prayer rattle through his mind, hoping that the creature wasn’t thinking of causing any more bloodshed. The creature burst into a smile. Simel’s heart dropped. “That means it’s almost been a whole year since we first met! Isn’t that lovely?”
The words sent a shock wave of memories, each more horrible than the last, flying through Simel’s mind, all of them as burning and terrible as a four-winged dragon. Only a few memories weren’t scalding to touch, but all they did was bring to mind the bitterness he had felt so long ago. It had almost been a year since it all happened—since his world ended.
The creature smiled at him expectantly as it always did whenever it said anything. And, as always, Simel said nothing. Its smile twitched. “Of course, for now, we’re kind of stuck here. Oh, yeah, I should’ve …” Thinking of nothing and everything, the creature began to absently claw at the flesh of its thigh, tearing deep, gouging lines that spewed blood liberally. “See, you’re kind of … your feet are all messed up, and my arm still hasn’t fully grown back, so we’ll have to stay in this city for a little while. At least until you’ve recovered. ’Cause, you know … I can make do with one arm, but you without feet would be pretty bad, I think.”
Stay in the city. Stay in a city. The killer of cities, in a city? Simel bristled.
He turned to look at the creature, hoping a fraction of the overwhelming emotions he felt could possibly be interpreted by the creature—that it might for once understand something that wasn’t itself.
The creature blinked at him. “What, you don’t want to stay?”
Simel clenched his hands into fists.
The creature’s little eyes squinted. “You don’t want … me to stay?” And then the eyes flared open, and its face twisted again, like clay being re-formed, and it made an expression like a jesting drake. “Oh, you don’t have to worry! I’m … Well, I mean …” It sank back into thought. Simel couldn’t tell if he was breathing anymore. It sat there, relaxed, its eyes calm as it muttered to itself, “I mean, this is technically a floor, so … does this city count as part of it? The goblins have levels, so they should be enemies, which would mean that …” Simel could barely even hear its terrible words above the hammering of his own heart.
As casually as a farmer discussing the weather, it raised its eyes to Simel and said, in that terrible voice, “If we’re staying a while, I should have enough time to—”
Its jaw suddenly snapped shut. The sound startled Simel to the point of twitching. Now it wasn’t looking at him anymore. It was looking at the empty air again, reading invisible words, its wax-pale forehead furrowing in thought. “It … I …” Its mouth closed again, and its eyes gained focus, turning to Simel. “Sorry, but I just got a message from the God of Pain that I apparently don’t need to defeat every single enemy to completely clear this floor—just the relevant ones.” A smile. “So, uh, for now, you shouldn’t need to worry.”
Even after Simel heard that, the panic still gripping his heart like a vise would not fade.
The creature absently scratched at some spot behind its head; then, when its hand returned red, licked off the blood. It glanced into the air once before returning its eyes to Simel. “By the way—great news! I’ve got food, and water, and whatever else you may want. Now, I don’t know exactly what you want—I still haven’t received any telepathy skill—but I’ll try to get what you need. As a matter of fact, I’ve currently got a pot of vegetable soup bubbling! And whenever we need more food, I can just go out and get more, easy peasy. I can probably find almost anything else as long as it’s inside the city borders, so if you just tell me what you want, I’ll get it for you. Anything.”
And it looked at him like that again. Like a drakeling wanting a treat for being such a good boy. Obedient. Simel didn’t have a single doubt in his mind that the creature was absolutely serious. And still, in the city, there was nothing he wanted. No physical item could fill the hole in his soul, nor could it complete the divine task he was set upon.
Deep inside his heart, spoken loud and clear through his eyes, as obvious as a cry, Simel thought, Please turn yourself in and let the due course of justice be done.
Please let the Goddess of Law judge your soul.
Please let the God of Truth lead Her hand just.
Please let the God of Repentance blind the eyes of the Goddess of Forgiveness.
And let the world find peace in your due penance—blood for blood.
But, of course, this blind creature of deaf cruelty heard none of this.
“So yeah. For now, how about I go get you a bowl of that soup I mentioned? That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? And, just so you know, there’s no meat in it whatsoever, and the broth wasn’t distilled from any blood, so it’s totally pure and fresh and healthy and all-organic.” Saying so, the creature stood up. “Just sit tight and I’ll be right back, yeah?”
There is no escape.
As though Simel could leave.
With that promise of return, the creature left, and for the first time in many minutes, Simel could breathe again. For a few seconds, he simply sat there, breathing, letting the beating of his heart slow down.
He had survived. Again. Would the Gods ever let him rest?
No. As they had a plan for that creature, they had a plan for him, too. He could not escape his purpose. Gritting his teeth, Simel leaned down, lowering his head. He should have died. But before his thoughts could devolve further, he noticed how he was no longer wearing his uniform, and his boots weren’t on his feet, and his satchel was gone, too.
An arrow of panic pierced his chest and he frantically removed the blanket, finding himself dressed in a simple, coarse tunic that went below his knees. Had the creature dressed him in this? Why? To weaken me? To make me easier to do away with when it no longer cared for me? No. No, that wasn’t it. No cloth or armor could hinder that beast any more than paper would hinder a spear. Then … why?
With his body uncovered, Simel could see his feet. They had been gently washed and wrapped in clean, tightly fitting bandages.
The soft padding of feet in the doorway alerted Simel and he quickly covered himself in the blanket once more.
“Here you go!” the creature said as it strutted inside, holding a tray containing a bowl and a cup of water. He set it down atop Simel’s lap. The bowl of soup was still steaming—still warm. Warm like flesh scorched upon the burning body of the desert’s faithful. The memory made Simel feel bile rise to the back of his throat, but he couldn’t let himself puke. He could never puke again.
As expected, the creature wasted no time sitting down next to him, watching—waiting for him to appreciate all its hard efforts. Simel stared down into the bowl. It was a simple soup. That was all it was.
His gaze slowly slid up, eventually finding the tapestry on the opposite side of the room. Two children, mother, father. Simel turned to look at the creature again. It smiled back at him.
Trying to hold back everything he didn’t want to think about and everything he didn’t want to remember, Simel picked up the spoon, put it in the soup, and brought it to his lips.
He ate, he drank, and that was all he did.
Afterward, he was glad to see the creature leave him. He was less happy to hear it explain in excited tones that it would be heading out to “scout the place.” Nevertheless, this left Simel alone for a little while.
He found his satchel on the floor, next to the bed he was on. For a moment, he took out the old king of Acheron’s crown, held it in his hands, and gave a prayer—the latest of many—promising justice to the creature that had ended his reign. Then he put it back into his satchel and removed his simple diary and his spellbook. For the remainder of the evening, he took notes of the events surrounding himself, the latest crimes of the creature whose unwilling guest he remained, and where the future might be headed.
The day passed.
The creature returned in the evening, bringing a little bag of sweets. Stolen. Maybe robbed. Possibly worse.
Then, dinner. Soup again. Once the sun went down, it seemed the creature expected him to somehow be able to sleep. Even worse, with the past few days being what they were, that was exactly what Simel did.
The next day, the creature woke him up with breakfast, cleaned the wounds on his feet, replaced the bandages, put him in a new tunic, and gave him warm water with bark syrup to drink. It took care of him—nursing him, caring for him as a mother cares for her child.
Simel endured.
After a few days, Simel could finally stand without it being unbearably painful. He could have quickened the healing by using Cure, but low-level healing spells of that type would often cause unintended complications when used too often or carelessly, so he refrained. Still, to recover, he chose not to walk too often. More importantly, he didn’t let the creature see how much he’d recovered.
At this point, Simel had decided that in order to bring the creature to justice, he would need to contact the arch judge of Sandshore.
They would listen to him. They knew of his quest and had already agreed to assist in restraining the creature and holding it captive when the time came. Arch Judge Gant would know his face. He would know how to handle this.
If Simel had continued his previous plan of bringing the creature before the Emperor of the Sun himself, he was no longer certain that he would survive the journey.
The creature would keep him alive. He knew that. That wasn’t the issue. The issue lay in his own strength of will. Could he bear to see the cruelty of this creature during the course of the months it would take to reach the empire? Would he not choose to cut the journey short? He could not know. A month ago, he’d believed himself strong enough to see anything this demon was capable of. Had he not already seen the deepest depths that these beings called humans could achieve? Their depravity?
That was not the case.
It had been a week since they reached the city. And for the first time in a week, Simel heard a voice downstairs that was not that of the creature. A thick accent, so heavy it might almost have been a different language. The voice itself was deep and brassy, nothing like that of the creature. It was a real person. An actual goblin.
Not thinking, Simel stepped out of bed, wincing at the pain in his soles before pulling himself to his feet and tiptoeing over to the doorway, his eyes moving down the stairs to the front door entrance.
There were two goblins, one inside the house, the other outside. The creature was nowhere to be seen. Simel gripped the doorframe tighter.
“Ar ya shure yer okay? Plenty a’ lads go ta work even wiff a sickly wife an’ kids in da house. Ain’t no shame ta go an’ provide if ya get what ah’m sayin’,” the baritone voice said loudly. Through the gap beside the goblin inside the house, Simel could see what kind of man this goblin was. Large. Burly. Yellow skin, with deep orange freckles. A standard Sandshore resident, built for heavy manual labor. “Ya get me?”
“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, shore,” the other goblin said. But it wasn’t right. The goblin’s voice was familiar. Too familiar. It was tall, too. Far too tall to be any goblin. And still, it felt as though Simel saw double, both the goblin that couldn’t be a goblin, and also a completely regular man, just standing there. Speaking with a clearly faked accent. “But, uh, one problemo, um, she’s got … The missy’s got AIDS. Yup. Real tragic story ther’, tha’ss for sure. Shore. Ya get me?”
“… Aides?”
The goblin waved an arm. His left arm. The other arm hung limply like the empty arm of a shirt. “Yup. AIDS. Stands fer, uh … Absolute Insufferable Dumbo Syndrome. Super infectious. Yea, just openin’ the door like this might be gettin’ particles all over the street. Why, right now, you could have AIDS and you wouldn’t even know!”
The goblin outside the door visibly paled. “Is—izzat so? Well, heh, erm … In that case, I s’pose I’ll just … Leave ya to it, then.”
“Thanks fer visitin’, Tromb.”
Without replying, the other goblin hurried away. The goblin inside the door closed it and gave a deep sigh. “Whew, what a wet-nose …” And then, he turned around. It turned around. A goblin. Not a goblin. Something else. Something that was too big for the skin it wore, with thin, gangly legs that pulled the skin tight and a head that was a little too big. The face was stretched across the skull like leather out for tanning.
And from within the sockets of what had once been a face, two dark eyes peered out, and up, and right at Simel.
“Oh, hey, Simel!” it said. “How come you aren’t in bed? Your feet are still hurt, so you really should be taking it easy.” But Simel couldn’t move. He couldn’t even muster a horrified tremble. The eyes within eyes blinked up at him, and a mouth within a mouth twisted into an amused smirk. “Oh, you don’t recognize me, do you? Well, heh … Maybe this’ll help!”
It grasped at an open part of its throat and pulled up, skinning itself, removing the face from the face and revealing that horrible ash-pale face of the creature, looking as proud as though it had won a war. “See? It’s just me—Fennrick!”
And that it was. Wearing the skin of a dead man.
The world spun and Simel could feel whatever he ate last pushing its way back up, but he couldn’t allow himself to puke, not anymore. Fighting the urge with every instinct in his body, he staggered back into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. The room was still spinning. The padding of soft feet made the world freeze, still upside-down.
“Everything alright, Simel? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, haha!” A pause. “Sorry, I just … I’ve always wanted to pull that one, you know? You understand, don’t you?” Silence. Then, after a while, “But, uh … I didn’t know you could walk. Which, you know, heh, nothing wrong with being able to get out of bed, but …” A pair of cat-yellow eyes stared down at him. Unblinking. “You really should stay in bed. There’s a lot of things in this house you maybe shouldn’t see. You understand that, right? I’m just trying to do what’s best for you, so …” It ran its tongue across its front teeth. “Even if you smell something rotting, don’t go in there.”
With that, it left, leaving behind a cold that left Simel with goose bumps.
That night, Simel decided to escape to get in contact with the arch judge.
The room was not quite dark. In these places, the night was never entirely dark. Not like at home, where night held its rule for all hours of the night, only unwillingly banished once the sun took her throne. Down here, the moons seemed so much brighter, and the stars were so many.
The night air was cold. It streamed gently through the window, alongside the little wisps of moonlight. As Simel stood by the window, he put one hand to his heart and the other to his mind and gave a short prayer to his devotion, the God of Knowledge.
He prayed for strength.
He prayed for mercy.
And most of all, he prayed for guidance.
And with that, he was ready. As ready as he ever would be. He had wanted to wear his uniform, or to bring his satchel, but he couldn’t risk making any noise on the way down. That beast could hear a mouse sneak. The arch judge would recognize him anyhow. If he did this right, they would have the beast restrained and in cuffs before it ever realized Simel had left.
It would have to work. There was no other choice.
Steeling his heart, Simel turned away from the window and toward the open doorway, into the thick darkness of the hallway outside. He moved softly, walking barefoot on the yellowstone floors. Without hurrying, he arrived at the doorway. The hallway was darker than the night sky. It was almost pitch-black. The color reminded him only of the sea of tar and its dark waves. The way the pitch would cling to you like the damned souls of those in the underworld.
Simel didn’t dare try to swallow down the lump in his throat. What if the creature heard him? That thing could hear the beating of hearts. He wished he’d kept his ring of cover. Though, with the way the creature had changed, he doubted it’d be of any help.
Gritting his teeth, Simel stepped out into the hallway. Never before had he listened with such intensity.
The whistle of the wind. The creaking of a neighbor’s door. The howling of a yipdog.
Not a sound from the creature.
He knew it did not sleep. Never had he seen it sleep, not even when they first met. It seemed unbound by such simple goblic needs. It didn’t need to eat, it didn’t need to drink, and it didn’t need to sleep. Yet it still ate flesh, and it still drank blood. But in terms of sleeping, the closest it approached such basic needs was meditation.
It did that often. It sat still—as still as a propped-up corpse—and it held its eyes shut, and then it would not move for hours at a time. Simel was certain it could sit unmoving for days if it so desired. At night, although it did not sleep, it would often meditate. Simel knew this. He had been keeping watch. He knew that the thing would spend its nights in a room, just off to the side, sitting as still as a corpse. Meditating.
This was the spider that wove his plan. With the creature in dead meditation, Simel would be able to effortlessly tiptoe down the stairs, slipping out of the door with ease and into the night. And that would be it. Then it would all be done and over with. He would no longer feel any need to rule Acheron. They could find some other king for all he cared. He just wanted this all to be over with.
