Mangowo
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Chapter 82: Unfavorable Odds
🕑 Added 2024-11-20 00:30:02 +0000 UTCClaws scraped gently against the unyielding stone, carving tiny grooves with their sharpened edges as I crept closer to the crest of a small hill. I shadowed the procession of cultists, the lot of them blissfully unaware of their tail. That Heralas fellow wasn’t bluffing—they were hell-bent on wrapping up this ritual post-haste.
Oddly enough, it seemed the system itself agreed with my suspicions. For the first time ever, it presented not just a challenge, but a proper penalty.
MISSION ALERT!
MISSION: Purge the Corruptors!
OBJECTIVE: The vile cultists aim to desecrate this dungeon floor, distorting its energies to fuel their nefarious ascension and conjure something utterly abominable in the process. Halt their heresy. Wipe them from existence.
TASK: Track the cultists. Destroy their altars. Slay their leaders before the ritual reaches completion.
REWARD: Choice of a Tier 4 skill. Additional Technique Slot. Additional technique of choice. +10 to all stats, +5 Skill Points, +30 Morphogen per altar destroyed. Bonus reward for each cultist leader slain. Special reward for completely disrupting the ritual.
PROGRESS: 0/3 Altars destroyed | 0/2 Leaders slain
PENALTY: Failure will result in the destruction of the biome.
ACCEPT: Y/N?
The system’s fury was palpable, and for the first time, I sensed a hint of… vulnerability? Helplessness? It wasn’t aimed at me, but it was unsettling nonetheless. By now, I’d pieced together how it worked. The system could only issue these missions when a monster became aware of the interlopers or their schemes. It couldn’t broadcast this plea to every hulking beast lurking in the shadows—there were limits to its power, as frustrating as that must’ve been.
My gaze flicked back to the cultists below as I unfurled my wings. With a silent leap, I plunged into a low glide, tailing them through the dim undergrowth. Their entourage wasn’t hard to follow—several other monsters had already noticed them and were throwing themselves at the group with reckless abandon.
Poor fools. The cultists were absurdly well-prepared. Their warriors weren’t just formidable—they were ruthless, each at least a yellow core. When even a Stage 4 stag-like beast charged in, it didn’t last long enough to so much as scratch their ranks.
They moved with clinical efficiency, dispatching attackers without breaking stride. Worse yet, an inner circle of them was acutely attuned to mana fluctuations, snuffing out any creature attempting to channel abilities before it could act.
Whatever the monsters were doing, it was working well enough to keep the Elves preoccupied, though not nearly well enough to make a dent. Still, I kept my Air Sense sharp, one eye’s shifting lenses tracking movements around me while the other dissected the details of the mission. It struck me how much faster my mind had become at processing this kind of information. Thinking about it all at once might’ve seemed overwhelming, but in practice, it was seamless, natural—like breathing.
The mission itself, though, was unlike anything I’d encountered before. The destruction of the entire biome if the cultists succeeded? What in all the blazing hells were these bloody Elves plotting? What monstrosity were they summoning? And how in the name of all things unholy did they plan to ascend that pompous noble brat of theirs?
I had questions. Too many questions. But, frankly, I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers. All I wanted was to end this madness. This dungeon wasn’t theirs to claim. Its energy—its Prana—wasn’t theirs to exploit.
They didn’t belong here.
Did they even understand the consequences of what they were doing? From what I’d gathered, they relied on this place’s resources—their warriors grew strong battling its monsters. Why risk destroying that?
No, it wasn’t even theirs to destroy.
A fierce, primal rage simmered in me at their arrogance. And beyond the anger, there was a creeping sense of wrongness. Whatever they were planning to do, whatever grotesque thing they aimed to summon, it wasn’t just vile—it was unnatural. Worse, I was sure it tied directly to elevating that noble brat to low-gold, just as the system hinted.
The deeper I thought about it, the more uneasy I became. This was far bigger than I’d expected. The scale of the biome alone was staggering—still impossible to fully grasp. Despite the fog-like hues that veiled half the horizon, I could tell: it was massive. Easily the size of four or five Caerlum capitals—the sprawling heart of the Aurelia Empire—stacked together.
And they planned to destroy all of it.
A pit twisted in my stomach. Whatever this business was, it had to be stopped—no hesitation, no quarter. I glared at them as they cut down yet more monsters, their blades dripping with cruelty. But for now, my hands were tied; I simply didn’t have the strength.
Sure, I could torch my arms again unleashing that monstrous torrent of lightning—worth every drop of my hard-earned 50 mana—but doing so now would be idiotic at best. They’d detect it immediately, and I’d wager my claws they’d prepared for it after my little stunt back at their camp. Besides, they were constantly on the move, which made scattering my toxins into an airborne poison an exercise in futility. No, patience was key. I needed to bide my time until they reached their destination—though the waiting gnawed at me something dreadful.
Still, I couldn’t let anger take the reins. Rage is an unreliable co-pilot when sharp wits and a steady hand are required. So, I kept my head cool, even if my tail lashed with frustration, and the pursuit continued.
Before long, the entourage arrived at a colossal cavern within the dungeon. The space had been freshly carved out, no doubt the work of Earth mages. Its sheer size was impressive, but what truly caught my eye was the shimmering frame of orichalcum—plentiful and painstakingly arranged. My heart sank. These cultists were supposed to be in a hurry, and yet here they were, flaunting a fully erected barrier enchantment, reinforced with some of the most expensive materials imaginable. Typical.
The ritualists were the first to enter, clad in their predictably ominous black robes, embroidered with enchanting runes. Among them was Heralas, who immediately began chatting with another figure—the one who’d been with him before. What was his name? Elnor? Yes, that was it. Two leaders, then. At least I’d identified the ringleaders of this infernal circus.
Much as I yearned to storm in and put an end to their meddling, I knew the timing wasn’t right. With a steadying breath, I quelled the itch in my claws for action and settled into a waiting game, patience proving the better part of valor.
Soon enough, an opportunity presented itself. The barrier shimmered to life, sealing the cavern, but not all the warriors had ventured inside. A contingent remained outside, busy fending off the little tide of monsters foolish enough to throw themselves at their ranks.
I backed off, taking stock. Their numbers were, shall we say, a tad excessive for a head-on approach. What I needed was more distraction—and by distraction, I meant monsters. Conveniently, I’d become something of a connoisseur in the art of baiting beasts.
Using my Air Sense, I locked onto the largest breathing signatures in the vicinity and set to work. One by one, I drew them in. This time, while the defenders' numbers were overwhelming, the plan still worked in my favor. Same tactic: bait the monsters until they noticed the cultists, then let the system—both theirs and mine—handle the chaos. The rewards for the mission were particularly tempting this time, so the moment those formidable Stage 4 beasts spotted the cultists, they dropped any interest in chasing after little old me.
I repeated the process, gathering an eclectic assortment of monsters. My evasiveness and speed served me well, allowing me to amass a truly formidable horde in record time. Before long, the cultists’ forces found themselves facing a surging mass of teeth, claws, and fury.
And yet, frustratingly, it still wasn’t enough. These Elves were infuriatingly clever and decisive. Not only had the cultists brought their full enforcer force, but their contracted delvers were here too, muddying the waters even further.
The cultists’ warriors, mages, and rangers—all masked in black—were unmistakable, numbering nearly sixty. At the forefront were warriors and a smattering of delvers, distinguishable by their simpler leather armor. They all had peculiar shields. Green vines writhed over those shields, degrading any monster foolish enough to make contact. They formed an impenetrable bulwark, flanked by spear-wielding warriors whose weapons bore the same corrosive vine enchantment.
Ten paces behind them, I spotted the control mages—similar to the ones I’d seen in their rituals. Thorny vines, earthen constructs, and shimmering barriers erupted from the ground at their command, corralling the dumb beasts and funneling them directly into the frontline’s hungry blades. Some of the mages had the gall to reanimate fallen monsters, turning them against their kin.
Further back loomed another unit of masked warriors, with that Arbiter Elnor guy planted squarely at their centre, surveying the chaos like a frosty monarch overseeing a disheveled court. His elite guards flanked him, coiled and ready to strike should the frontlines so much as wobble.
A single sharp glance from him was all it took—like a silent conductor orchestrating carnage. They surged forward with precision, delivering punishing counterattacks to seal any breach in their defences.
Elnor himself wielded a peculiar black blade, its menace as unsettling as the man. I never once saw him move—not properly—but every so often, he’d draw the sword, and just like that, the most troublesome monster on the field would crumple, lifeless.
He was undoubtedly a red core—same as Queen once was. Their power remained as inscrutable to me as the depths of the Abyss.
Something about him screamed that he could dismantle my pitiful monster wave singlehandedly if he fancied it. Yet he wasn’t. No, his gaze prowled the battlefield, clearly hunting for something—or someone—likely me. Or whoever they thought might be pulling my strings. Meanwhile, under his relentless command, more and more monsters fell, their resistance crumbling like sandcastles against a tide.
I gave it one last go, summoning as many stage-four beasts as I could muster. More came, drawn to the delicious scent of slaughter. But even their ferocity wasn’t enough; the Elves were still winning. Efficient. Ruthless. Experienced. Clever. A whole bloody army.
Against me.
For the briefest moment, doubt clawed at my chest. But I smothered it, snuffing it out with the furious resolve bubbling in its place. No. The ritual should already be underway. It had to be. I unfastened the knot securing the glass case on my back—the case cradling my one true trump card—and drew it free with deliberate care.
The poison. My special concoction.
Narrowing my focus to the cultists, I worked with precision. Slowly, I dripped the toxic brew onto the metal rim of the case, one claw guiding the flow with the delicacy of a surgeon, the other coaxing out faint crackles of lightning to atomize the droplets.
I unfurled my wings, sensing the air currents and directing the invisible, lethal vapour towards the Elves with quiet finesse. As for the monsters still locked in their futile skirmish? They’d serve as unwilling collateral. A necessary sacrifice. I whispered an apology to my fellow creatures for the torment to come, though it didn’t slow my hand. Some losses, regrettable as they might be, were inevitable.
Changing positions, I let the toxins seep into every corner of the battlefield. And when the first signs of confusion gripped the combatants—monsters staggering, frontline warriors stumbling—I knew I’d succeeded.
This poison was an elegant kind of wickedness. Bizarre, perhaps, but as brilliant as any of Lotte’s outlandish recipes. It inverted its victim’s senses into a tangled web of chaos. Sight became touch, touch became sound. It was sheer, unrelenting torment, a symphony of sensory disarray.
The battlefield was ripe for my entrance.
It was time.
Comments
Shelbo
Damn I can’t even imagine the effects of the poison. How would you even touch with your eyes
