Chapter 13:Shadow Of Death
[Are you alright, Arthur?]
"Yeah..." His words ended in a groan as he eased himself from the crater his crashing form had created in the earth. It would probably just mean a reduction in his physicality.
And how the hell had he crashed into a tree when he was supposed to be intangible?
Or had the whole intangibility thing been a sham?
[It wasn't a sham, Host. You needed a brake, or you'd have traveled farther than the hill without air resistance or opposing forces. I deactivated intangibility so you could use the trees as a stopper.]
He heaved a heavy breath.
His eyes stretched past the shallow gouges in the earth his body had trailed—furrows of uprooted soil and splintered bark marking his chaotic path—and the array of fallen trees, their trunks cracked like broken bones under the moon's pale gaze.
So that was it.
All that smashing just for a brake. He didn't even know if he should thank the bot for it.
"So, how do I control this speed of mine?" His form began walking through the slightly dense jungle of green grass and evergreen trees, the damp, earthy scent hitting his nose. He never knew the cemetery had a mini-forest hidden within it.
[I suggest, Arthur, that you avoid moving at full speed. Instead of running, try jogging. Instead of lunging, opt for a jump.]
Well, that was a simply genius idea. His hand phased through the leaf of a grass blade he was about to touch, his form slipping effortlessly through the foliage.
Oh, so he was intangible at the moment.
But come to think of it, even before arriving at the cemetery, he could phase through walls like this—intangibility and invisibility both.
His eyes widened.
Yes... Then what the hell? Had this bot tricked him into buying something he already had? Veins popped on his forehead.
Amazing. Truly amazing.
[Tone down the anger, Arthur. I can explain.]
Arthur rolled his eyes. He could see the overlay of the gray worms and the cabal of death that formed the little sea of viscera and bodies strewn under the blanket of the night sky.
"There's always an explanation..." He rolled his eyes again. "Always an explanation."
[I understand your rage, Arthur—well even if I don't feel it.]
Arthur cut it off.
"You made me a moron..." His eyes darted back to the worms. "Couldn't even recall the chemical formula of water." His hands rose exasperatedly.
[Explanation:. You possessed the ability to become intangible and invisible as innate traits—not specialized for combat and not actively controlled by you as an attribute, but by me, the System. Just like you can't control the Spatial Bypass to change locations at will. Turning them into attributes not only gives you control but also allows evolution into something greater. See? It was tactical.]
Oh.
That was all he could mutter. Quite a nice reason. Well, that was the thing—this bot always had good explanations.
[I think it's high time, Arthur, that you start believing I might be the only one on your side.]
"So..."
[Trust me, Arthur.]
"No... thanks."
His form finally emerged from the bushes into the clearing, the pale moon now bathing his figure—though its light phased harmlessly through him. The gigantic worms, now slightly farther away, moved wildly and disjointedly around the clearing. Or were they searching for the cause of their massacre?
[I'll be waiting patiently until you do, Arthur.]
Yep, that was it—that borderline psychopathic stalker vibe again, which sent shivers down his spine because the stalker was literally inside him.
Well, so... His eyes counted the number of gigantic forms his hyper-sight could process.
It was...
[116. The total is 116.]
Quite efficient. He placed one hand on his chin while the other gripped his scythe tightly—dark and bladed. 116 was still a huge number, but not something he couldn't handle. Hell, he might not even need to extract any more essence.
Well, no—no, Arthur. Tone down the overconfidence.
[I suggest you wrap this up quickly if you want a pleasant night's rest. Time until next death: 09:43:56...]
Oh, his time was down by almost an hour and a half, and his standard sleep was eight hours. Guess he'd have to finish this and snag another hour of rest.
He let out a cold, foggy breath, taking his stance again. This time, he'd start from the right, then spiral inward to the center.
[Remember, Arthur: Tone it down. Take it like a jog.]
Well, he half-heard that. His figure shot from the spot—not with the sonic blur of last time, but fast enough for his invisible silhouette of black to cover the 200-meter distance between his position and the feral worms in no less than a second.
And when he arrived at the right flank, it exploded into a maelstrom of ichor.
His scythe whirled in a deadly arc, a silver-black blur slicing through the first worm's armored hide like paper through flesh. Ichor sprayed in viscous arcs, splattering the ground in steaming pools that hissed against the cool night air. He pivoted,his boots skidding on the slick earth, as another lunged—its maw gaping wide, fangs gnashing inches from his intangible shoulder. He felt the rush of air, the heat of its breath, but phased through, countering with a upward slash that bisected it from jaw to tail. The halves writhed and burst, showering him in a warm, acrid mist..
Near-death flashed as a third coiled around him mid-stride, its body slamming him against a gravestone. He flickered tangible just enough to brace, muscles straining as he wrenched free with a roar, scythe reversing in a spinning cleave that severed three heads in one fluid motion. Blood—dark and thick—rained down, turning the grass to mud. He leaped over a thrashing tail that nearly impaled him, landing in a roll to eviscerate the next, his blade singing through flesh with a wet, rhythmic thump. The air thickened with the metallic tang of death, the worms' guttural shrieks echoing like thunder as he danced through them—untouchable yet lethal, a shadow reaping souls in the moonlit frenzy.
When his arm finally receded from its strikes, it wasn't from fatigue but because the right flank had run out of monsters. No less than 50 worms lay strewn on the ground, his invisible form standing amid this dark sea of ichor, flesh, pupils, and viscera. The remaining huge worms glanced from beyond him at the massacre, their pupils widening as if unable to comprehend the cause.
It was as if they were facing Death itself.
And slowly, while some lunged more ferociously at the spot—betting their lives on a desperate gamble—a great number began a strategic retreat, their forms dissolving into the grave soil. Perhaps to protect the colony from...
Extinction.
[Updated Stats:
Physicality drain: 9.
You've gotten more efficient, Arthur.
Threat remaining: 39...]
Another pant escaped his lips before his invisible form blurred again. Though his speed was slower due to the physicality loss, it was still enough to be a handicap. He was right; perhaps he could eliminate them all with these stats.
"Hey, you know what, Bot?" His scythe birthed a whirlwind of frenzied attacks, tearing and cleaving the first mawing corpse digger to pieces before detonating the next in a following horizontal cleave. Dark blood exploded in a mist, dyeing where he stood even blacker. "A name just struck me." He added, his form now atop a gravestone, overlooking the tempest coming at him.
[What's the name?]
"Well." He hurled himself skyward, savoring the rush of air though he couldn't feel it at all. With hands outstretched, his figure descended. "What about Mimir?" His boots and the force of gravity rammed from above into the head of one, detonating it to nothing but shards of flesh drinking in dark blood. His hands rotated, fists closed, as he smashed one directly through its maw into its eyes—a slight moment of tangibility before becoming intangible again. "I get that it's cringe and all, but it has a nice history."
[Yeah, it is... surely is. I was honestly expecting something better, but what can I say? So, Mimir it is now. Quite nice, Arthur.]
Veins popped on his forehead. What was with the sarcasm? He'd thought a lot just to curate that masterpiece of a name.
Mimir.
Yeah... He rolled his eyes; it was really cringe.
He ducked downward as the maws of one of the corpse diggers nearly cleaved his form—it collided into the opposite stream of others. Well, not before his scythe marked its back, the gray rotting flesh parting like mist. "Believe me, the history is nice. Why not try to learn it? It'll make you love the name better."
[Oh? What's the story then?]
What was with the lackadaisical attitude?
He sighed.
His eyes scanned his position. Oh—he was being surrounded in swarms by these worms, an arbitrary circle of gigantic life-suckers. He was right in the middle, trapped, the putrid smell of rotting flesh thick in the air. His invisible form melted into the darkness of their shadows.
Quite intelligent. Trapping him here meant a high probability that at least one would succeed in killing him if they all lunged together—even if it meant killing each other in the process.
But...
That made it easier for him. Now they were all within the range of his scythe, and he was far faster.
"Well, in the old stories, Mimir was a god known for his knowledge and wisdom. His head was cut off, and Odin carried it around to get advice." Arthur hefted his scythe, the black aura of death flickering around it once more as he turned toward the heart of the horde. "Seems fitting. You're the head I carry that keeps me from getting mine cut off."
[Quite touching, Arthur. Never knew you had this less-cringe side to you...]
His smile twitched. He didn't know if he was supposed to smile at that—was it a compliment or an insult?
Or a complimented insult.
An insulting compliment.
Ugh. He groaned. He had bigger fish to fry than trying to piece words together.
His eyes wandered to the ridge of death steadily closing in on him, a yawn escaping his lips.
About time he catch a good night sleep.The scythe emitted a slightly turbulent aura of death.
[But anyways, Arthur... Thanks. You know, for the name.]
He cracked his neck, giving out another yawn as he clasped the dark, deathly scythe tighter.
"Any day, anytime... Mimir."