Zachary Scott
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Chapter 91 - Potential (Book 3 - Chapter 1)
🕑 Added 2024-09-27 18:41:11 +0000 UTCThrask glittered as our boat drifted down the cave river, sparkling with the promise of loot, power, and almost certainly danger.
I couldn’t say how long it had really been since I floated down this same river with Lyria to enter Beastden dungeon—since rushing to find a way to feed my powerful cursed bedroll, nearly dying dozens of times, facing Rake and his murderous shadow magic and eventually having to battle the Eclipsed who was once called Krete.
All I knew was the experiences had made me stronger. Far stronger.
Even now, I could feel the swirl of dangerous dark mana within my core. Building. Coiling. But contained, like a caged beast I had yet to train.
The size of our party had also grown. Lyria was still there, but so were the escaped slaves we had saved and now called allies, Thorn, Sylara, Zahra, and Ramzi.
I knew this was still only the beginning. Maybe we’d survived the dungeon. Maybe I was far more powerful than just a few weeks ago, and I still had countless accomplishments to claim and rewards to gather… but deep down, I knew there was a greater threat still looming ahead of me.
Something I’d only glimpsed so far like a predator moving between the trees in the darkest hour of the night.
I knew all of this, and I still smiled as we pulled up to the docks and tied off the boat.
Thrask towered above us, stretching high toward the cave ceiling which arched several hundred feet into the air. Despite being underground, the whole area was lit with buttery midday light that spilled through a huge hole directly above Thrask’s palace.
Water poured in from every edge of the hole, creating a wall of water that rained down on Thrask’s highest level, cascaded down clever spillways, and eventually fed into the river that ran along the lowest level of the city, the docks.
To me, the city looked like a treasure chest—full of prizes and potential that I could hardly wait to crack open and claim.
People of all shapes and sizes moved around the busy docks, loading ships or hawking goods like strange fish from the cave river and steaming bread filled with spiced meatballs. And the smells were both wonderful and terrible. A breeze might carry either the scent of rotten fish or fresh bread and meat.
As the capital city of the Tomte, Thrask's population was heavily skewed toward the three or four-foot-tall, gnome-like race. Tomte men and women both bore beards and had a preference for elaborate, gaudy hats that bordered on ridiculous.
Lyria stood beside me with her arms folded. Her short red hair was clumped with blood and dirt, making her blue eyes look brighter against the scuffs on her face. Her plate armor was dented and battered, with one leg guard torn away completely, revealing ripped pants and skin I had magically healed, even if caked-on blood still remained.
She wore a small, scaled buckler no larger than an open hand at one hip, but I knew she could expand it with a touch of mana. The Basilisk's Shield could also petrify targets who failed to resist its spell, making it one of her most powerful items. Her sword was simple Iron, chipped from heavy combat. A heavy crack ran down the center, making me wonder if the sword was destined to be scrapped.
I decided I’d make sure she got a nicer weapon soon. I was almost certain to find my way into some money before long, and I’d use what I could to help her replace the sword. After all, without her help, I’d certainly be dead. Or, even worse, I might still be alive in Beastden, run through with dark mana as a passenger in my own mind.
She saved my ass when she threw my corrupted bedroll on my head, and I owed her for that—along with countless other moments in the relatively short time we’d known each other.
“Where are the grommets?” I asked, scanning the busy docks.
Lyria looked over her shoulder toward the water, frowning. She was around my age—early twenties, though I'd never actually asked.
I supposed I wasn't technically in my early twenties, either. It still hurt my head to think about the fact that I had likely spent thousands of years on Eros climbing to godhood before trading my power and memories for this prestige mode. I only felt like I'd been transported here a short time ago. I only felt like this was all new.
“Maybe they dug back?” she guessed. “Who the hell knows. Grommets are strange. Whatever they did to get back was probably as odd as they are.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic.
But we had a more pressing worry than the location of the grommets. Slaves weren’t permitted to roam free, and the only chance we had of keeping our new friends from getting captured was to pretend to be their masters. The idea was to safely get them to see a tomte named Massian Rahma, who could supposedly secure them safe travel to somewhere less dangerous.
I looked at the group, who were doing their best to play along, as we’d planned. Two of the escaped slaves were humans named Thorn and Sylara, romantically involved in some capacity.
Thorn was lean and muscular with a body criss-crossed in scars. His thick brown beard was braided down to his chest. Three white, horizontal bars tattooed below one eye indicated his status as a slave.
Sylara was built in much the same way, with dark hair worn in a small ponytail. A puckered scar ran across her lips, giving her a permanent grimace.
The other two gladiator slaves were sekmeti, a dark, nearly purple-skinned race with vaguely cat-like faces. Their noses were small and their eyes sharply upturned, revealing irises that were almost white, crossed with glittery silver lines. Up close, their skin was speckled with reflective golden dots like freckles. Their slave marks were on their thighs in the shape of a pyramid.
Zahra wore shredded robes and had black hair braided back to fall nearly to her waist. Ramzi wore surprisingly clean clothing he stole during his escape from captivity. He fought with musical magic, which kept him in the back lines during our trials in the dungeon. His dark hair was short and pushed away from his face. Both sekmeti were long-limbed and unnaturally graceful, with an almost supernatural, haunting beauty.
“Are we ready?” I asked the group.
The escaped slaves nodded, still keeping the illusion of subservience to avoid drawing attention.
Before we could leave, a familiar womp womp womp sound echoed from behind us. Deeper down the cavern, we saw a barge that looked like a floating island of grass and dirt approaching. At first glance, the whole island seemed to have grown luxurious, flowing brown hair that rustled in the breeze. It appeared to be crawling upstream with dozens of root-like legs.
A closer look revealed the “hair” was actually a large number of grommets. The roots were what they used as paddles to propel their “boat.”
Just as Lyria predicted, the grommets had done something weird.
When the wind blew just right, wide, saucer-like eyes could be seen beneath the flowing hair, along with glimpses of smiles full of flat, powerful teeth capable of crunching through rocks. At about three or four feet tall and with child-like enthusiasm, the creatures were admittedly kind of cute. But they were also unpredictable and occasionally problematic.
Grommets were viewed as pests by most—known for taking up residence and then illegally tunneling beneath cities until things were at risk of collapsing. They were also known for tapping inexplicable wealth to bribe their way out of trouble and buy out furnisher shops so they could be the lone witnesses to adventurers claiming their loot.
The grommet at the head of the ship wore a white robe with his hood down, revealing a gray, beard-like patch of hair below his mouth. His eyes were wisely squinted as he leaned on a root staff.
That would be Timbo, the grommet hero who had climbed to level 18 in the dungeon, making him about 17 levels higher than every other grommet I'd met so far.
“Should we wait?” Lyria asked.
“Uh...” I hesitated. A few noodle-like arms were emerging from the hairy balls of grommet on the island boat. They were waving and smiling at us. “Maybe we'll just catch them later. I don’t think a herd of grommets following us is going to be ideal when we’re trying to keep a low profile. Besides, I'll probably wind up at Grimbo's... if I get any furniture tokens,” I said, nearly admitting by mistake that I already knew what accomplishments I’d earned in the dungeon.
Lyria gave me a knowing look.
I could see exactly what rewards I'd earned in the dungeon thanks to my Gold-ranked, extremely powerful helmet, Voidgaze. It was one of two relics I'd been allowed to leave myself from my days as a deity. Of its many perks, one was letting me read my accomplishments and reward tokens as soon as I earned them.
I trusted our escaped slave friends, but hadn't seen any reason to reveal more information than necessary. Lyria was the only one who knew the extent of my helmet's abilities, and even she didn't know everything.
I had earned a Legendary Personal Space Upgrade Token when I killed the Eclipsed in Beastden. Unlike most rewards earned from accomplishments, upgrades to my personal space meant I needed to pay a visit to a specialty shop called a furnisher. Since the grommets had apparently acquired or bought out every furnisher in the city, that meant my rewards would have me paying Grimbo and the grommets a visit sooner rather than later.
“Yeah,” I said again, more to myself. “We'll catch them later.”
Lyria nodded. “Let's get moving, then.”
“Let's,” I agreed. “I think we need to hit the Arcanery first. We can all figure out what we earned, pick up our tokens, and then split up for our personal spaces. Unless any of you have a big enough room for us to all claim loot in the same personal space?”
My own personal space was still un-upgraded and the size of a broom closet. Lyria's was slightly bigger, but not big enough for six people to comfortably gather.
The others all shook their heads, indicating their personal spaces were also small.
“Alright,” I said. “We'll just split up to claim our loot. There’s a tavern called Cavern’s Rest pretty close to the acanery. We can meet there.”
With a plan in mind, I gave an apologetic wave to the approaching island-boat full of happy grommets. When nobody was looking, I discreetly touched a small pebble in my pocket and summoned a magical echo of the rock.
It appeared in a puff of ghostly blue and green light, landing with a satisfying thump in my left palm. I lowered my mouth to the pebble. “Hey Pebble,” I whispered. “Welcome to life outside Beastden Dungeon. Pretty crazy, right?”
Pebble vibrated slightly in my hand, which I took to mean he was excited to see a new place.
I kept a loose grip on him, spreading my fingers so he could hopefully see—though I wasn't actually sure how his vision worked. As a pebble, he didn't have eyes, even if there were two dimples in the rock I chose to think of as his eyes, especially since they were above a kind of crack that looked like a crooked smile.
Lyria noticed me holding Pebble and rolled her eyes. She, of course, didn't understand how smart he was, which was alright. Back on Earth, I’d always been the kind of guy who wanted a small army of pets in my house. My job as an EMT meant I worked odd hours and was gone too long for more than a dog my sister helped me care for.
So, yeah. If I could summon magical things that vaguely reminded me of pets here on Eros, you could bet your ass I was all over that. Pebble didn’t even eat, shit, or piss, which kind of made him like a pet on steroids, if you asked me.
We made our way through the docks, stopping briefly so I could buy steaming buns stuffed with cheesy meatballs for everyone. We wordlessly enjoyed our snacks as we climbed the stairs from the docks, which was part of the lowest of the four tiers of the city.
Each tier was smaller as you climbed up, with the third tier being a large, circular plateau filled with colorful tents, brick-and-mortar shops, and most of the city's services. The third tier also seemed to hold most of the housing for the poor and middle class. Many houses were carved into the vertical face of the rock like pockmarks, some of which were hardly granted privacy by dangling tattered cloth. Others were more carefully carved and protected by wood facades or brick walls. Each was reachable by stairs or simple handhelds cut into the rock. Some of the nicer ones had ladders that looked as if they could be pulled up for safety.
The second tier of the city was unique because it existed within a natural gash in the huge rock mountain Thrask was built around. The docks and third tier were built on some semblance of flat ground ringing the central structure with a sheer drop to one end. The second tier, though, existed in a miles-deep scar gashed out of the rock, with the lights of homes and shops and odd plantlife only visible as faint, multi-colored glows from within.
So far, I’d only seen the third tier from a distance, but I imagined the things that happened in that darkened area were likely less savory and probably not of the legal variety.
The highest tier sat atop the mountain of stone within the cavern. It was where the palace sat ringed by falling water and it was also where the nicest housing, which included an adorable section of walled-in, miniature tomte nobility housing I could’ve probably crushed while doing a Godzilla impression.
It felt like nothing could quite extinguish the flame of hope and excitement in my stomach. When we first arrived in Thrask, I had to rush into Beastden with Lyria because I’d claimed my cursed bedroll and learned it would awaken into a Diamond level threat without feeding on dark mana.
Now that I was harboring my own presumably replenishing supply of the stuff, I could actually stop and smell the roses a bit.
I would have time to claim my loot, restock my potions, check in on my friends from the Black Wood, check in at the Adventurer's Guild, and even claim my third class corestone. As probably the only living being on Eros who could equip two classes in the first place, it felt almost unfair that I’d managed to merge my stones into a “fusion” class back in Beastden. But now I once again had an empty slot for a class corestone, and I could slot in one of the remaining four base clases—either a damaged focused Sword stone or a defensive Shield stone.
Once all that was over, I might even find a chance to train with all the new abilities I’d gained over the past week.
It was quite the to-do list, and I could hardly wait to complete each task.
We climbed a long staircase flanked by rushing water on its way to join the cave river. The four escaped slaves behind us earned plenty of stares, but nobody stopped us.
The closest call was when we passed one of the white-skinned, hairless, and black-eyed Kiergard warriors standing guard outside a shop. Thanks to Voidgaze, I saw the Kiergard was a level 50 Iron, and definitely didn't want to risk pissing them off.
It looked as if the kiergard man had been about to approach us, maybe to ask for proof of ownership, but three tomte had begun arguing and shoving just before he could move. The distraction had let us slip away without confrontation.
We wove through crowds, passing shops and makeshift market tents selling everything from rusted weapons to sweet pies. I saw the potion shop where I had picked up my explosive Bombroot potion, the flammable Dragon's Tail Potion, and the restorative Healing Potion before we headed out for the dungeon. I didn't have enough money then to buy more, but maybe when I was done collecting my rewards, I could pay another visit and add some new tools to my arsenal.
We passed the shop for now, heading for the closest Arcanery, where we'd be able to view our accomplishments and claim reward tokens from our victories inside Beastden. Our path also brought us by the illusionist, who I had paid to conceal the true nature of my Voidgaze helmet. If her estimate on how long the spell would last was true, I needed to get in there soon. Currently, Voidgaze looked like a simple, horned metal helm. If the illusion faded, it would go back to drawing attention I didn't want to risk.
Without the concealing illusion, the helmet was made of blue Voidsteel material with shadows billowing out of the eye holes. Combined with the wicked horns, it didn’t take an expert to assume the helmet was unique and valuable. But the real reason I kept it concealed was because I couldn’t risk anyone recognizing me as one of the nine gods of Eros—Seraphel.
Before I prestiged and wiped my memories, I’d apparently worn it on my rise to godhood. As long as I was still regaining my strength and climbing up the ranks, I wanted to keep my former divinity secret for as long as I could. So far, only Lyria knew, and Circa had magically oathbound her to keep the secret before her death in the infested ruins outside Riverwell.
The streets of Thrask were uniquely beautiful, and I found myself enjoying the views more because I imagined what Pebble must be thinking as he saw them all for the first time. To my right, there were shops and tents. Behind those, the rocky wall of the cave rose almost straight up forty or fifty feet, cut through with dwellings carved into the side. To my left, the occasional gap between buildings showed a deep drop and the ever-flowing cave river at the back of the distant cave, along with hundreds moving around the busy docks as ships came and went. From here, I could even see the furry shapes of the grommets, scattered all around the docks now, doing who knew what.
I was smiling to myself as I bumped into someone ahead of me. I was about to apologize, but realized everybody was crammed together, watching something. People were cheering, pumping fists, or laughing.
I was relatively tall, especially after reaching Iron, so I only had to stand on my tiptoes to get a clear view over the group.
Everyone had circled around a young man and a bigger, older man who looked rough around the edges. The young man was on his back, forearms crossed protectively over his face. Just before the big man could lower a boot on his head, I summoned a quick Mana Shield in place.
The big man's boot landed on the shield instead of his victim’s face. The shield flared bright blue with magic, but held, only giving a faint glassy squeak as the man’s boot skidded on its surface.
He frowned, hands melting in what looked like a mirage at first. But the melted skin formed the shape of two long blades as his eyes flared yellow.
What the fuck?
“Who was that?” he asked, spinning as the eight-foot-long flesh blades formed where his arms should be, each lined with rows of hooked, bony spines. His yellow eyes scanned the crowd.
I inspected the man as everybody else took a cautionary step back.
[Human, Level 34 (Iron)]
Considering I was only level 5 in Iron, he was more than a match for me, most likely. But it wasn’t as if I was planning to fight him. And there was really no way for him to know exactly who had supplied the Mana Shield.
I hadn't realized every single person in the crowd stepped back except me. I was still standing there, fists clenched and holding a glowing blue pebble between my fingers. A pebble who happened to match the color of the Mana Shield floating in front of the cringing boy's face.
The blade-armed man faced me, eyes locking on Pebble, then lifting to glare at me. “You...”
Why was I so goddamn bad at keeping a low profile?
Comments
Mikki Phoenix
No "Next Chapter" link?
Mikki Phoenix
"emerging from the hairy balls of grommet" -- #Snicker
