Galactic Fist of Legend: Volume 2 Page 10
Nearby he saw something that would be potentially useful. Some of the fungus had grown up on a fallen stalagmite. He picked up the heavy stone implement, and used it like a torch. Before trying to cross the river, he searched every corner of the area on his side of it.
Behind a large pile of debris, he found one of the little glowing lights that he'd seen previously. Uncertain what to make of it, the only thing he could do was touch it to see what would happen.
Hesitantly, he reached down and poked his finger into the gently roiling mass of light. The moment that his finger reached the center of that chilling light, he became aware of something new. Words appeared inside his head. It was not the message screens that he was used to, but something similar.
[Vial of Lesser Spiritus]
During ancient days lost to the disjointed memory of time, a certain alchemist discovered the means of extracting the sins of the fallen. In his research, he discovered a method to purify that sin. Once purified, it returned to the truth, its truest essence. In so doing, that alchemist discovered a means for the injured to quickly heal from any wound.
[--]
Scott blinked as the misty bit of light flared brightly then flowed into his hand. The sibilant whisperer from before, spoke again, "Think of it strongly to call it forth, and to know its power."
He followed the advice of the hidden whispered. It took a moment to get the visualization right, but once he did, an image appeared inside his head. It was an image of a clear vial with a dark red liquid inside. Next to it words and numbers appeared.
[Vial of Lesser Spiritus]
Potency Level: 1/6
Essence Cost: 0/100
EXP Cost: 0/3
Usage: Life Force Restoration
Dosage: 3/3
Restoration: 1.25 – 4.5 [Vitality]
[--]
"What... What the hell does that all mean?" he asked quietly. The chatty whisperer did not seem interested in answering his question. Scott was confused greatly by the latter portion of the information. What exactly was [1.25] vitality for restoration supposed to mean? Did it restore one hundred twenty-five percent of his health? Did it restore one and a quarter hit points?
There was only one way to find out. The worst that could happen was his horrible death, right? No pressure.
Scott focused on the idea of his new item, and soon it appeared in his hand. It was weird, something hard to comprehend properly. In a way, it was like the thing was hiding inside of his body somehow.
The stopper came off with a careful tug, and he took a hearty drink. There was no reason to be squeamish. Live, or die, he needed to test the Vial of Spiritus.
A golden light flared outward from his body and heat returned to his tired flesh. He soon felt good, incredibly good. It was like every ache and pain in his body disappeared in a flash. He still looked more than a bit desiccated, but there was no more pain. He could even more without quite as much stiffness as before.
"Man, what a rush..." said Scott. Thoughts rushed through his head, almost as powerfully as the health rushed into his decrepit body. How did this thing work? How much of his health or hit points had it actually healed? The healing pills and potions he was used to did not cause such a feeling when used.
The damage done by dropping down to the floor was completely healed. Scott, breathed a sigh of relief. His ass no longer felt like he'd butt-scooted across barbed wire like a dog scooted across a fresh new carpet.
Some of his vitality regained, he moved toward the river. It was time to see if he could cross.
As things turned out, his journey to the river proved to be anti-climactic. The dangerous seeming water was quite shallow. No denizens of the deep rose up to devour him. On the other side of the waterway, he discovered four more glowing spirit masses that became items, and a new tunnel entrance.
Scott inspected his new finds just like before. He started with what appeared to be a knight's shield designed in the kite style.
[Hartford's Shield of Broken Dreams]
A young boy once desired to become a noble paladin, of bringing the light of justice to the wicked and the lawless. His great dream was to become a shining shield for all people of good heart, a protector to keep back the terror of the dark.
In time the boy grew into a man. He descended into the earth in search of evil to smite. In the hateful darkness of the underworld; his shield, his dream, and ultimately his spirit, were broken.
[--]
"Poor bastard," said Scott quietly. He looked back at the corpse, rather the brittle skeletal remains. It was impossible to tell much about the former owner of the shield, but he did not seem that he would have been a tall man.
"Were you still just a kid when you came down here?" he asked the corpse quietly. It was a sobering thought for Scott. Would his bones line the corridors of this dark hole of a world? What of other missions? When would it be his turn to rot in the dark, his entire existence nothing more than a plot point for some other intrepid explored to use while furthering their life story?
After a moment of polite silence, Scott looked away. "Get it together. It's going to happen, soon. When it happens, everything ends."
The sound of a man breathing deeply and slowly exhaling echoed in the gloom of the underworld. "You're alive right now. As alive as anyone else," he told himself quietly, but with a bit of heat in his tone.
Fist clenched, he ground his teeth together and growled a little. "Not, yet."
His vision blurred briefly as memories of recent days suddenly assaulted his mind. Death, gore, unending violence. He relived the terror of the zombie hordes and the near death escapes that occasionally cost him an arm or a leg. Briefly he relived the pain of his limbs being torn from his body, and pieces of his body being ripped away by tooth or fingernail.
More memories assaulted him. Loneliness. Isolation. Darkness. The constant return to his dark hole between missions. For the briefest of moments he was completely overwhelmed by the emptiness of his existence. For that moment, it was like he too was nothing more than a forgotten corpse left alone to rot in the dark.
However, the same indefinable aspect of his being that refused to die during his first day inside the terrors of the death game rose up. He threw his head back and screamed, heedless of any nearby enemies, "Not, yet! You mother fuckers can't have me, yet!"
His body taut, wound tighter than a guitar string on the verge of breaking, he squeezed his fist so tightly that his fingernails tore the skin a little. A trickle of blood seeped out as his chest heaved up and down. Tears trickled down from the corners of his eyes, a counterpoint to the tiny amount of blood that he now spilled to seal his decision.
Gulping in great gouts of air, Scott managed to reign in his insanity long enough to pant out the words, "N—Not, yet."
"Not, yet," he repeated with a little more calm in his tone. He continued to speak those words and he did his best to lessen the dark thoughts that clamored together in order to overtake his mind.
Scott took a moment to collect his thoughts. The dark tide of past horrors subsided in time. Once they did, he chose to focus on the task at hand and looked to the information provided for his new shield.
[Hartford's Shield of Broken Dreams]
Level: 1/3
Essence Cost: 0/24
EXP Cost: 0/1
Durability: 65/65
Weight: 18.7
Physical Defense: 12-14
Arcane Defense: 3-4
Mystic Defense: 4-6
Defense Bonus: 0.7[Resilience]
Special: Repel the Wicked [D][Faith][Charisma]
[--]
The information provided was as strange as before. When he focused on individual components like Physical Defense, new information appeared. The defensive power of the item would then show as protection against slashing weapons, or things like fire and celestial damage. There were also defense notation areas wherein the item was meant to show information for an increase in defense against a special type of
situation.
For instance, it did not increase defense against poison or disease, and so the main information section did not show it. The information was available on deeper focus, however. Scott assumed that if the item did have a special defense stat for those types of issues, they would be shown more clearly.
It was a lot to take in at the moment. In truth, he was a bit lost but some of it seemed intuitive. After making several attempts to discern everything that he could about his new shield he managed to discover what the listed special option meant.
[Repel the Wicked]
[Faith][Charisma]
The light of a valorous heart will force back the darkness of the wicked soul.
Woe be to those who cannot resist the power of the faithful!
Faith Damage: 1.45 - 2.1
Special: Paralyze Undead – 0.25
Cost: 46
[--]
"Neat," he said. Satisfied with the item for the moment, Scott looked his other items over. The next item of interest was the sword. Unlike the shield, it was somewhat basic and did not come with a special option.
[Jert's Ancient Broadsword]
Once there was a mighty warrior named Jert. He went on many adventures with his favorite blade ever at the ready, but he died alone screaming for his mother. This is the sword that failed him in his time of need.
[--]
"Oh, that sounds promising," said Scott sarcastically. It was just what he needed in his life, a sword that reminded him about how badly the last user died while wielding it.
[Jert's Ancient Broadsword]
Level: 1/4
Essence Cost: 0/73
EXP Cost: 0/2
Durability: 60/60
Weight: 5
Physical Attack: 8-14
Attack Bonus: 1.1[Strength]
[--]
"Damn, why is this shit so complex? I'm surprised they don't have a stat for how well I can wipe my ass," grumbled Scott. Most of the items showed basic information at first glance, but upon further inspection dozens of other things would begin to pop up. The sword, for instance, showed physical attack. However, if he focused more strongly he could see the amount of damage it could resist when blocking.
Almost everything listed on the mental images that he saw also offered a sub-listing. Some of those sub-listings also offered further sub-listings. It was insane. Who could keep track of all of that information? What's more, every single item had its own lore associated with it.
The last of the two items were a simple pair of underwear, and a shirt. Yet, they too had their own lore.
[Ashley's Purple Panties of Prurient Pleasure+3]
A warrior's heart can often be tempted by the naughtiness of carnal desire. Ashley knew this well. Beneath her red leather clad exterior lurked the panties of a woman who sought dangers of a different kind.
[--]
"No defense boost, but it increases faith for some reason. That's sort of like charisma for me." Scott eyed the sexy panties for a moment. He could use the stat boost, but he had certain concerns about the matter.
"My heart's just not ready," he said after a moment.
Scott chuckled slightly then said, "Though, I would have liked to have met Ashley."
Any woman who would upgrade her sexy panties three times was alright in Scott's book. However, there was more to see. The final item was a simple cotton shirt. It had its own name and backstory, but it provided nothing of further use.
[Cody's Lightly Stained Cotton Wife Beater]
A simple shirt, for a simple man. Worn only on alternate Tuesday's, Cody would strut around town in this sleeveless white shirt, get drunk, and occasionally scream at the stars when night came. His constant cries of, "Stellar!" still haunt those who bore witness to his drunken madness.
[--]
Scott equipped most of his new items. The panties remained buried within him, a dark secret shared with no one. His arms immediately fell downward, and he nearly lost his grip on his shield and sword. "God damn, this shit's heavy!"
His injuries were healed, but he was still weak from the repeated deaths that he had endured. It was a struggle to move quickly, so he unequipped his sword and allowed it to fade back inside his body. Where it went when it did that, he still did not know. The shield soon followed after he picked up his makeshift torch.
Onward! The tunnel beckoned him. He continued on his way at a slow, methodical, pace. Eyes and ears intensely focused at every noise or hint of movement, he did his best to be prepared for any eventuality.
The tunnel soon gave way to a small open area. Scott slipped to the right and followed the cavern wall while searching the room with his eyes.
The creak of ancient bones alerted him to danger. He equipped his shield then struggled to lift it as he advanced forward. Suddenly, a loud cry split the air. A rust-encrusted meat clever descended toward him from above. It took every ounce of strength he could muster to slam his shield upward to meet it.
A dull clang rang outward from the impact. Scott was knocked back a bit, but the attacker hit the ground hard. The weird little monkey skeleton thing struggled to rise up, Scott recovered quickly enough to bash it with his torch. Knocked down once more, the beast gave the rapidly tiring champion just enough time to drop his torch and pull his blade.
The combined weight of sword and shield were immense at the moment. He did not know what the numbers meant next to the weight stat, but he'd assumed it was pounds. Either his deaths weakened more than he'd thought, or his guess for the weight was wrong. In the end it did not matter, he struggled to use even a fraction of his normal prowess during the battle.
Scott lifted his sword, but let the force of gravity do the damage. His blade fell limply and struck the beast across the back. It tried to get up with greater speed after it took damage, but Scott slapped the bottom of his kite shield downward onto the same spot to keep it down.
The bony little monkey never seemed to realize that it could attack him while lying prone. Scott capitalized on its poor life decisions as best he could, but his sword rose and fell several times before any real damage occurred.
Shrieks and outcries of rage were the monkey thing's only response as Scott continued to asthmatically pummel it with weak gravity assisted sword strikes. At roughly the tenth strike, the angry little howling thing finally stopped moving.
Several motes of light rose up from the corpse then floated toward Scott. However, part of the way to their destination they converged toward a single spot then faded away. The number [2.5] emblazoned in bright green, hovered briefly in the air for a moment then disappeared as well.
"That guy was worth two and a half EXP..." Scott realized the sort of difficult that lay ahead for him now. Even the 100mph crack head zombies that ran in screaming were only worth twice that much.
He took a moment to catch his breath, and then tried to pick up the cleaver that the monkey tried to use. It immediately turned to dust. There was no loot for this fight, it seemed. Reluctantly, he moved on.
The tunnel led to another room, this one was filled with old crates and barrels. Never one to look a possible gift horse in the mouth, Scott searched through them all. In the far corner, behind a set of busted crates, he saw another glowing item. He picked it up then curiously sought the answer to what it was.
[Memories of a Forgotten Soldier]
Lost, alone in the dark, the forgotten soldier died with regrets. Those regrets still linger in this dark place.
[--]
The so-called memories coalesced into a single marble sized sphere. After a moment of concentrated focus his eyes widened. Scott held the marble aloft then grinned when it exploded in a flare of light. The energy of the explosion flowed into him. A bright green number seven appeared in the air before him. It was basically, free EXP.
He traveled through the tunnels slowly, carefully. Few enemies appeared, and even when they did appear they were only the little skeletal monkeys. Scott beat them all in the exact same way. They woul
d drop down from the ceiling, meat clever in hand. If he blocked or avoided the attack they proved easy to beat, even if it was a tiring prospect. If he did not block the attack, a successful hit would tear through him with incredible ferocity. Those horrific assaults caused blood to spurt out from the wounds created in hideous volume. Great gouts of it arced heavily through the air at every failed instance of first contact between Scott and the bony monkeys.
Luckily, despite the weakness of death inflicted upon him Scott was sturdier due to his equipment. It was a strange situation given the visceral nature of the wounds received. Somehow splattering obscene amounts of his blood all around the cavern was not the same as a single blow from the first enemy that he met in this world.
The wounds did cause him problems over time, however. Scott was forced to chug both of his remaining doses of spiritus to remain among the sort of living. He picked a few odds and ends, here and there. The only notable items were a few more of the crystalized memories of dead people.