Rain Harlow
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(Vol 6) Chapter 42: The Right Heretic
🕑 Added 2024-09-14 15:16:30 +0000 UTCCasting into the sort of slew of nothing-but-enemies wizards dreamed of dropping an AoE into, Big Nose — his face cast with spiteful glee — dropped a destructive AoE on the forces of Samantha. They had precious little time to even move in response, much less mount an attack. But it would’ve been so much worse if the cloud had still surrounded them.
I should’ve just distributed his attack on me instead of the trade. I should’ve-
Her thoughts were cut off by another black cloud erupting around the group, only this time it attacked the soul and body; it threatened to melt the flesh off of their bones like a dunk in foul acids.
Worse, decision points blossomed in Estara’s head like a storm. A moment she’d dreaded came — the day when she had to let people die. Some levels were too low to survive, and there weren’t enough lots to go around. Furthermore, those who could do something after the attack to save the remainder would be needed. Like her. The guilt was monumental. Enough that she almost just let herself succumb. She would survive it, even so.
But she’d be stunned by the wounds. And in that moment, everyone would probably die, possibly her with them.
Bob was a strong warrior, utilized some resistance boost, and otherwise handled it up himself, paring it down to a manageable Minor Wound. Dart and Seraphiel were Servitors who wouldn’t really die, but she couldn’t sense their wounds anyway nor factor them into the lot of mortals.
She focused on the highest level of the remainders, or at least those who put up existing higher resistances one way or another. Minor Wounds for all, to squeeze as much life out as possible — her included. She took her and three others, splitting wounds shared with three healthy saints elsewhere. With three lots left after the seven-split, she reduced a Mortal Wound on one man to Major Wounds for three.
Four men took lethal wounds and died instantly. One took a mortal wound and might survive with permanent scarring. Two more took Critical Wounds that would leave them unconscious but likely to pull through if not hit again.
Pain and injury came, and Estara was shocked at how excruciating it was. A will-based contest she would have otherwise failed due to novel circumstantial penalties instead tied due to her buff.
You have taken a full-body Minor Wound, and are at -1 Effective Levels to all tasks for 5 seconds.
You have forced a tie against a disabling Pain effect. You are at -1 Effective Levels to all tasks for 1 minute.
The pain almost disabled her anyway, because she could barely think or focus through it even without a System mandate. Her eyes and her skin burned like fire, and it was all she could do not to fall to her knees and puke her guts out at what sort of foulness she breathed in. As it was, she fought off a coughing fit and stumbled.
I’m a fucking creampuff. That’s what the circumstantial was. I’ve never handled pain like this before. Come on, I’ve got to do something or everyone is dead!
The rest of the crew wasn’t doing great, to say the least. Beyond the howls of the dying as their flesh was reduced to foul, blackened slag, two men she’d saved were screaming despite their reduced wounds. Dart was down and groaning, likely due to his existing wound absorptions softening him up. Seraphiel was down to one knee, grimacing and assessing what she’d do despite this.
It was hard on top of everything else not to grieve, not to plop down and cry for the hideous deaths of saints. I’m so sorry. I failed you. I failed your loved ones. May Heaven give you peace.
Even a Resemblant had been hit, and floating listlessly through the air in their version of incapacitated. The other Resemblant had thankfully fly-dodged completely clear of the AoE. He was already preparing an area heal effect, by the looks of it intent on roping Estara into it. It was pointless to argue — the damage aura was still ticking, after all.
Two men were gritty enough to charge their enemies through that terrible pain. Bob and a middle-aged veteran fighter. Yetony was his name, a long-time loyalist of Lucky and one of the first in Caneboro she had converted. It was the only time Estara had ever seen him smile.
Big Nose was still scowling, apparently frustrated they weren’t all dead. But he was already preparing another spell. Dirtboy blocked the way to him with a sword and magical shield, and worst of all, the aura around them yet persisted.
“We have to hope you can cut the cord, boys,” Seraphiel sent to the group. “The wizard still has a wound negation underneath, I think. I can snap-shot a light laser at him if I have a window. I’m prepped to do so. I don’t know what will be the kill shot after, though.”
Estara tried to assess what to do. She would get beat on a spell, she was sure. She needed to assist the chargers to have any real shot at getting past Dirtboy… but even if she could, if Big Nose wasn’t interrupted, they were done for.
She realized she still had something fast. The Hand of the Goddess. It had been damaged by the spell but was highly tough and resistant to such magic. It also still held a blackened, mutilated corpse in its grip. Estara lined it up at a diagonal angle and barreled it right into Dirtboy, to help expose the cord.
Dirtboy saw it at the last moment and tried to dodge out of the way. But his dodge was clearly designed to keep himself in front of Big Nose, and he paid for that conservative maneuver because Estara was more than ready for it. She slammed him almost dead on and sent him spinning to the ground with the wind knocked out of him. Sadly, he was protected from further injury.
The fall placed him right in front of Yetony, and even on the ground, that big magic shield would be a pain; however, Bob was already flanking, and unopposed on a likely route to cut the cord…
Despite all this, the equation Estara was looking at showed them coming up short of the math equalling victory. There was no ‘punch’ left after an expended wound negation, and there was no chance it would interrupt Big Nose’s next horror of a spell.
She analyzed and scrounged in her brain for what could be done when they were one move, one split moment short. How did one produce action when action was expended?
Her gaze fell on the big foreigner 'man' holding his hands up, watching with some concern the events around him but ultimately not enough to participate. It was then that something from Mother herself came to her mind.
“Rule number 17 of the Sammyverse, lassy,” she had said with her mischievous smirk translated psychically. “It’s a free action to bullshit. Use it!”
And she knew it was true — Dart did it all the time to unsettle and destabilize his opponents. She needed something more, but it occurred to her suddenly that her buff could help.
A massive bonus to social tasks. He’s being a heretic in my book. It’s worth a shot.
Invoking Priestess and her buff, Estara glared imperiously and called out with a voice she did not realize she even had. “Fool giant! Do you deny my status even now?! Do you not see that I am who I say I am, that there cannot be another?!”
The man looked as if he’d been slapped in the face, his eyes going wide. That he’d been satisfactorily chastised was readily apparent. His hands dropped, and his eyes cast downward meekly. “No.”
His word was highlighted by a frenetic melee oh so close to him. Yetony fought desperately to slash the cord, only to be tripped up by the fallen, desperately scrambling Dirtboy. Bob was there, though, unimpeded in his charge, and with a pristine, fluid slash, he severed that connecting cord in one, smooth stroke…
“You are Little Sister,” the giant said quietly. “Please forgive me.”
The protective enchantment banished, Seraphiel, still kneeling, thrust her sword out and fired a beam of light out, streaking and invariably blasting the disguised wizard, Big Nose, wiping out yet another layer of protection.
Big Nose was cackling evilly now, though, as his gesturing hands conjuring his destructive spell signaled he was but a moment from unleashing it on his foes once more.
Estara quickly pointed at Big Nose, still glaring at the giant. “Recompense by striking my enemy; repent by slaying my blasphemer!”
The giant looked up at her and she saw his eyes flash with new life. “Thank you.” Some inhuman snort followed this, an eruption like a miniature volcano. When he spoke next, he boomed like a warcry and the ground shook. “I will obey!”
Estara thought it was all far too late because the spell was coming and the giant was, after all, very slow in every apparent way.
But like thunder and lightning, he moved — like his promise was unbreakable law, he charged. The bull crossed the distance and bodily knocked the wizard directly into the dirt, ruining his spell just like that in the span of one eyeblink. Dust cascaded upward. Nasty damage had already been dealt to a relatively frail body… and the giant wasn’t done, either.
One hand lifted up and suddenly spawned a massive double-headed axe, which promptly dropped like a meteor down onto the fallen form of Big Nose. A spell seemed to resist it in perhaps some last-ditch wizardly protection. But the axe cut through it just as it cut through the man’s skull.
His head split open like a melon and the axe embedded itself into the ground with the cracking sound of multiple cobblestones.
Estara fell to her knees and tears blossomed in her eyes as a shuddering breath escaped her. Not for mourning or pain — in the sudden, breathtaking relief of sweet, narrow victory.
Thanks to the death of the wizard, the damage aura finally cleared, and the Resemblant’s soothing balm of healing flashed through her, among others. Estara tried to quickly get a hold of herself, because she was needed for that, too. Others were suffering. Throwing herself back up, she stumbled to look for who to help…
There was no stopping the men from finishing off Dirtboy. Feral cries resounded as they fell on him with stabbing spears and swords, with him spending his last moments in futile cries for mercy and surrender. They fell on deaf ears. There was one last scream before a punctured eye and neck silenced him for good.
Estara rushed to the Follower with the Mortal Wound, as he yet lived, though the AoE healing did nothing for him. He was unconscious. His damage was like a burn victim and he was likely blinded from ruined eyes. She poured a potion over him, a very high-level and precious one that could reduce the worst of wounds. No healing would work on him for a week, but eventually…
He’ll live. We’ll restore his sight. He’ll be okay…
The giant observed the death of Dirtboy grimly and with a note of sadness. “I thought he was a good man. He acted nice. Such deception. It hurts my soul that he was a liar. What he and his ilk did… I see that it is grave to you all. Unsporting. I am sorry. Truly. There is more debt owed for my error.”
“You’re damn right there is!” a man cried, voice stained with grief. He was looking up from a corpse. “What am I supposed to tell his wife, huh?! That he died for an idiot?!”
“Enough!” Estara called in fierce admonishment. “No more name-calling for one who helped save you all! He didn’t have to help! He didn’t.” Swallowing a dry throat and wiping ichor off her hand, Estara eyed the giant. “You’re a foreigner. We cannot expect you to know our ways. You are not even human, are you?”
He very slightly shook his head. “No. But I am instructed to share details first with Little Sister only. You. Privately. So you may assess things.”
Estara winced. Another lie we’ve told, isn’t it? “Yes, well… let’s just save the rest for a better environment than an open street soon to become another battleground if we linger.”
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« (Vol 6) Chapter 41 | Table of Contents | (Vol 6) Chapter 43: Keeping Together »
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Note: Next chapter is a little more with Estara, and then scene-breaking to start off back with Sam Sam.
